Planning Behind
by Bubski McBoo
Summary: When he writes about his past for the sake of the curious wizarding world, Harry Potter finds himself falling in love with the memory of his dead Headmaster. Little does he know that Albus Dumbledore had memories that have yet to happen.
1. Chapter 1

_When Harry is finally able to settle down and finally find a peace within himself as a teacher at Hogwarts after the war, he is immersed in the magic of the school, and finally feels at home. But it soon becomes clear to him that his story is far from over. Faced with the duty of reliving his "glorious" past for the sake of the curious wizarding world, he finds himself falling helplessly in love with the memory of his dead headmaster._

**I own nothing. *Salutes J.K***

**I have other things in store for the world.**

**Warning! This is slash! (Male/male romance) If you don't like it, don't read it. **

**At the moment, everything is reasonably PG-13, but this could change as the story progresses.**

The sun shone gently upon Hogwarts one particularly pleasant summer's evening, caressing the castle in a golden glow, the stone and glass windows twinkling as if in mischievous knowing of the events that were to follow from this day on.

This was mirrored by the stone of the village that was overlooked but was not dominated by the comparatively magnificent castle. Hogsmeade seemed to twinkle in the same way as if it were in on the castle's joke.

The inhabitants of the village were peacefully going about their day. There was never much to do during the summer, as the students of the school – who were their more frequent patrons - were away for the holidays.

Birds chirped relentlessly, as the decent of the sun grew steadily more imminent. Their efforts however were momentarily interrupted as a discerning _pop_ was heard, marking the unmistakable sound of one who had just Apparated.

After a seeming hesitation, the birds continued their song, albeit a little louder as if indignant at the interruption.

Harry Potter, who had caused the offending sound, was straightening his thin button down summer robes, which were the kind of green that blended easily with the grass and trees that surrounded him on all sides. He had not noticed the amusement of the architecture or the indignation of the nesting flock of seasonal songbirds.

No, Harry generally did not like Apparition, and was concentrating wholly on the recovery of air into his lungs and oxygen to his brain, before pointedly setting out down the path towards the front gates of the Hogwarts grounds.

As soon as he had passed though the high wall that marked out the castle's boundary, he seemed to visibly relax and walk at a much slower, contented pace.

Reaching the top of the stone steps, and with a sense of mounting anticipation; he pushed the doors open into the Entrance Hall.

A weight in his chest seemed to lift, along with the corners of his mouth. He was home.

He picked his way easily to the Headmistress' office, and was sharply aware upon arriving at the gargoyle guarding the familiar moving staircase that, according to the letter sent to him by the headmistress, the password had not changed since he had left.

"Dumbledore."

The name stabbed at Harry's chest as the gargoyle sprang to the side, anger bubbling inside him at the reminder that others were not as willing to forget the painful past as he was.

He climbed the spiral staircase and knocked.

"Enter."

Harry did a double take at the sound of the voice. It wasn't the stern female voice he'd been expecting.

Harry opened the door tentatively and looked over to the desk where Professor McGonagall was sitting, writing hurriedly on a piece of parchment.

"Professor, who..?"

In response, she jabbed an accusing thumb directly behind her; Dumbledore's portrait.

Harry felt the same stab he'd felt at having to voice the man's name at the foot of the stairs.

Dumbledore's portrait was looking rather sheepish.

"My apologies. Even after twenty years, I forget that this is no longer my office."

"You'll get used to it, Albus!" Spoke a high pitched jovial male voice from another one of the portraits, though Harry couldn't tell which it had come from.

There then came a general chatter amongst the portraits, each seeming to compete against how long it had been before they'd broken out of the habit of answering the door.

The portrait of Dumbledore was not listening however. He was smiling down at Harry, eyes twinkling.

Harry caught himself defiantly and turned what had threatened to be a watery smile into a glare and wrenched his eyes away from the offending painting.

"Ridiculous," he thought out loud.

"Quite," said McGonagall, "But you don't have to endure it everyday."

She put down her quill and rolled up the parchment on which she'd been writing.

"Now Mr. Potter, please take a seat."

Harry took the seat which was so familiar to him, and yet unfamiliar, as if the presence of a new owner of the room now required him to reacquaint himself with it.

"Well, I'm sure that since you're here, you have not resigned to disregarding the offer that has been put to you?"

Harry sighed.

"Am I that easy to read?"

McGonagall smiled.

"Yes, but only because I have know you since you were a baby, Harry."

Harry gave a small smile.

"You know me very well professor. But I know you too. It wasn't your idea to offer me the job, was it?"

Dumbledore's portrait chuckled. Harry and McGonagall turned to look at it.

"It seems that the war has blessed you with new insight. Or is it the influence of Miss Granger?"

Harry's face was impassive as he answered.

"I suppose it's a bit of both."

McGonagall turned back to Harry,

"You're quite right Potter. It was not me who suggested you. However, as soon as it was suggested, it was clear to me that really, the role should go to no other."

Harry nodded.

"Are you interested?"

"Yes, absolutely. I've had enough of dark witches wizards to last me several lifetimes. Perhaps through teaching I can avoid young people making the decisions that lead them to become dark."

McGonagall nodded.

"Then I am satisfied. Welcome back to Hogwarts, Harry. Term starts on the 1st of September, but I expect staff to be back and settled two days before at the latest. I want lesson plans for each of your classes for the entire first term in time for the staff meeting on the 24th of August in the staff room."

McGonagall stood and held out a hand.

Harry let out a long breath and followed, shaking the proffered hand gratefully.

"Thank you very much, professor."

"Minerva," she corrected.

"Minerva. Blimey, that's going to take some getting used to. I'll get my things and start moving in right away."

McGonagall – or rather, Minerva – smiled.

"Congratulations Harry," said the portrait behind Minerva.

Harry's expression became stony as he looked towards the oil based impression of Dumbledore.

With a quick nod and smile to his new boss, he exited the office abruptly, determined not to look back.

Even that painting's blue eyes sparkled.

Harry quickened his step down the corridors, as far away from the oil-made replica of his mentor as he could.

**A/N: Sorry for yet another chapter replacement! But I noticed after reading through the first chapter for the umpteenth time, I realised that for some reason, I wrote that there had been four years since Dumbledore's death. It's actually been twenty years! Sorry about that!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Just to clarify, it has not been four years since Dumbledore's death. It's been twenty. The story is set a year after the epilogue, which I loathe by the way, but I'm keeping this story as true to the books as I can. I realise that J.K said that McGonagall would have retired by then, but I figured that she should take a leaf out of Dumbledore's book and ignore her old age.**

**I don't own any of the characters except the new ones I've created. **

**I don't own Hogwarts (which would be very cool) or any other J.K.R creations. **

**Flames will be treated with the contempt they deserve.**

Harry spent the next few weeks getting necessary items together from his would-be home at Grimauld Place. Although the house had greatly improved from its former state of disrepair, as Kreature's now constant attentions had restored the house into a more comfortable living environment, he still didn't feel welcome there. This wasn't helped by the screaming portrait of Sirius' deceased mother and the preserved heads of Kreature's ancestors, but Harry was sure that even without them he would still be unable to call this house his home.

His family were in the other house he owned in Godric's Hollow, and he was content that they live in it and not him. He loved his children, and they deserved the best. He even loved his ex-wife, and Harry knew he owed her much more than his house.

Harry rubbed his chin absentmindedly. He felt stubble, and the thought of finally learning a spell to get rid of it after more than twenty years of using a razor distracted him from his thoughts of the past. He dwelt longer on this negligence of magic which most wizards of his age would find second nature as he extracted his robes from Sirius' wardrobe (over the years he'd taken to wearing some of his godfather's old clothes as well as his own – they had similar taste) and transferred them to his backpack, which he'd charmed with an Undetectable Extension, due to Hermione's advice. To this, he added his Invisibility Cloak, the Marauder's Map, his supply of ink, parchment and quills, his Sneakoscope, the photo album Hagrid had given him in his first year at Hogwarts and a bag of toiletries.

He slung his meagre collection of possessions over his shoulder and hesitated at his collection of broomsticks lent in the corner next to the bedroom door. He'd bought himself a new Nimbus 2000 to replace the one that had been shredded by the Whomping Willow in his third year at Hogwarts. He also still had his Firebolt, for the sake of nostalgia, and he was most attached to this one, even more than his newest broom, the Swiftwind, which was still, after 10 years, unmatched in speed and response. Deciding that practicality was a more rational reason to favour an object than sentimentality, he picked up his Swiftwind. He then made his way to the library and picked up a large stack of books he had put together. He double checked the holster up his sleeve to make sure his wand was there, then made his way down the staircase and into the kitchen, where he found Kreature polishing one of many brass pots. Seeing Harry, he dropped the pot on the floor and made a deep bow, so that his nose disappeared inside it.

"May Kreature be of any assistance to Master?"

"Yes Kreature. I want you to serve my ex-wife at Godric's Hollow for the time being. I will be at Hogwarts indefinitely so I'm afraid you'd be quite lonely here."

With another low bow, the elf put away the pot, which incidentally looked thoroughly polished already, then disapparated with a _crack._

With a last impassive scan of the room, Harry turned on his heel back into the corridor. Without even a glance behind him, he was out of the door, and as it closed behind him, he heard faint clicks and a chain clinking as the house locked itself. With only a slight pause, in which Harry let a small sigh escape him, he released the doorknob and promptly disapparated, the determination to arrive in front of the wrought-iron gates of Hogwarts coming to him with no effort.

Harry caught himself tracing the path to Gryffindor tower. He shook his head and laughed at himself. He turned on his heel back towards his office on the third floor, only to walk right through a ghost. He let out a loud gasp as he felt the unpleasant sensation of a bucket of cold water being thrown over him.

"Harry my boy! How are you?"

"Hi Nick. How have you been?"

"Oh, one cannot complain. The Grey Lady has convinced me that joining the egotistic Headless Hunt isn't worth my worry. Of course, now that I'm not trying to join them, I haven't got anything to worry about at all. It's an odd state of being Harry. Perhaps even a little unsettling."

"Tell me about it," sighed Harry.

Nick looked at him.

"We're both men of war, Harry. I understand only too well what you must be going through."

Harry was silent. He knew exactly what the ghost meant, and yet, he didn't.

"If you ever feel like you need an ear, I'll always be at your service, Mr Potter."

And without waiting for a response, for which Harry was mildly grateful, Nick left him with his thoughts.

When Harry entered his office, it felt almost unrecognisable. Every time he'd been in it, the room was always different depending on the teacher which had inhabited it. Looking around, he realised he didn't have much to make this room his own. He wasn't going to hang paintings of himself around the room as Lockhart had done in his second year, he wasn't about to house any creatures in it as Lupin had done, he didn't think that dotting around sneakoscopes and foe glass was going to be particularly useful anymore and he certainly wasn't going to paint the walls pink and mount up plates with kittens.

On the desk was a note, and Harry picked it up. It was in McGonagall's writing.

_Harry,_

_Since you are new to our teaching system within Hogwarts, I've written you an agenda of things which must be completed by September 1st._

_Lesson plans and your desired set books must be prepared and handed to me at the staff meeting on August 24th. If I deem anything to be unsuitable it shall be discussed at the meeting._

_Your classroom, office and quarters may be arranged however you see fit. You should make the classroom your priority, however._

_Winky, one of our house elves to whom I believe you are aquainted, wishes to speak with you. I have asked her to show you to your quarters. Just speak her name – you are now in the service of the house-elves as one of the teachers._

_Minerva_

Harry raised his eyebrows, and putting the letter back, he called, "Winky?"

And with a sudden _pop_, the female house-elf appeared, wearing her usual tea-towel toga and tea cosy hat. She made a low curtsey and looked up at Harry with wide eyes.

"You wished to speak with me, Winky?"

Winky made another low curtsey and nodded her head vigorously, making her look like a drunken woodpecker.

"It is about my daughter, Master Potter, sir. It was Dobby's (She hiccupped at Dobby's name) wish that she is serving you when she is old enough, Sir."

Harry was taken aback.

"I, er… I see. And why did Dobby wish that?"

"He thinks you will treat her well, Sir. And I is agreeing, Sir. You are kind to even house elves, Sir. Besides, I will do whatever Dobby has asked, Sir!"

And suddenly, Winky let out a loud wail.

"I is sorry Sir. It is hard to let her go, Sir. She has Dobby's eyes, Sir."

Suddenly, Harry understood.

"She is yours and Dobby's daughter?"

Winky nodded, ears flapping. With an effort, she stopped crying.

"Is she not one of the school house-elves now?"

"N-no sir. She learns here, sir, from me and the other elves about how to be a good house-elf, sir. She can't serve a master until she comes of age."

"And when does she come of age?"

"When the students arrive, sir."

Harry sighed gravely.

"Winky, I already have a house elf…"

As soon as he had spoken, Harry regretted it. Winky looked up at him, her lip trembled threateningly and she fell onto all fours, clinging onto Harry's leg.

"But, Sir..! If you do not take her, she goes to the Malfoy Family! And so might her children too, Sir! They do not treat elves well, Sir. I knows I is just a lowly house elf Sir, and should not ask anything of a wizard as big and powerful as you, Sir. But I beg you sir, take Wibby! She will serve your family all of her life and her children after her. It was Dobby's wish, Sir!"

Harry's discomfort reached a fever pitch along with Winky's cries of anguish. Harry bent down and pulled Winky away from his leg.

"Okay Winky!" Harry had to shout over the elf's sobs, "I'll take Wibby."

If it was possible, Winky sobbed harder.

"Oh, thank you Master Potter, sir! Thank you!"

"So, er… Pr-Minerva asked you to take me to my quarters?"

The elf nodded, and with a few hiccoughs, she led the way out of Harry's office and through the door at the other end of the adjoining classroom.

Winky led Harry further into the third floor corridor, and after some time, turned down another narrow corridor which led to a dead end. More specifically, it led to a window. There was nothing else in the small corridor.

"Only you can open it, sir!" piped up the elf.

Harry looked around, dumbfounded.

"What do I have to do?"

Winky said nothing, but pointed at one of the walls which stood only feet apart from the other. On it was a large black tapestry, on which a large bird was weaved in red and gold. Harry let out a gasp as the bird moved, tilting its head at Harry, as if wanting to be stroked. He instantly recognised him.

"Fawkes?"

The bird trilled, and moved its head closer to Harry's hand, which he hadn't realised was already outstretched.

Harry reached out a finger to the image of the bird, as if it was magnetised.

As soon as his skin came into contact with the cloth, it seemed to dissolve, and was replaced by a curtain of white smoke, making Harry recoil. He looked at Winky.

"You walks through it, Master Potter sir!" she said excitedly.

Harry looked sceptical. The smoke definitely looked questionable. However, he figured that Winky would be unlikely to want to kill one of her masters, so he again reached out with a tentative finger and touched the smoke. He didn't feel anything.

In an act that was very Gryffindor of him, he walked boldly forward into the smoke.

Emerging on the other side, he found himself in a decent sized and cosily lit room. He heard a rushing noise behind him and turned to see Winky emerge from what appeared to be solid wall, trailing behind her the same smoke that had made the entrance.

Harry allowed himself a smile.

"Now that," he said, looking back at his new room "is pretty cool."

Harry found himself almost equally impressed by the décor of his quarters. He was standing in an angled room. On his right stood a modest fireplace, around which was a fat, comfy sofa and armchair in black leather and on his left was a tall, wide window, with a desk angled next to it, so that one could sit and look out of the window but not be directly facing it. All of the walls, with the exception of the one which held the fireplace, were covered from floor to ceiling with books. The floor was made of stone, but was covered in places by shaggy brown rugs.

At the other end of the room, an archway was perched above two small stone steps. Harry could make out a fully carpeted room in the same colour as the rugs and a black four poster bed with a brown bedspread.

"Is Sir needing anything else, sir?"

Harry was startled out of his daze.

"Er… No Winky, that's everything, I think." He said, smiling down at her.

With a low curtsey, the elf vanished.

With a sigh, Harry walked over to his desk and sat down. Opening a drawer, he found a stack of parchment, pots of ink and a pile of quills. Pulling one of each out, he started to write out his lesson plans for the coming term.

"No time like the present," he said to himself.

**A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews – I was unsure about what kind of reception I'd be getting but you've given me a huge confidence boost so thank you. **

**I urge you all to continue reviewing. (or start, if you haven't already)**

**My thanks will be faster updates – perhaps with longer chapters if you're all really nice. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow guys! Thank you for the awesome reviews and favourites! Please keep them coming, they make me feel happy! :D**

**Be prepared for a lot of exposition. After all, 21 years has passed, and it'd be very difficult to tell the story if you guys don't understand how it fits into what J.K has already created.**

**Here's Chapter 3. Enjoy! :)**

**I own jack. Nada. Zip. **

**I mean, in this story. I can't really imagine literally not owning anything. **

**The new characters are mine. This story is my work but everything else belongs to the rich blonde lady with a cool surname. *bows to said rich blonde lady***

Harry woke as the bright sunlight filtered in through the window and crept over Harry's face. Sitting up, he felt for his glasses on the bedside table.

His bed was covered in books and lists of books to do with Defence Magic. He had spent the last few hours of the night trying to find suitable reading material for each of the year groups, and had found it surprisingly difficult.

He picked up the final list he'd made. Most of them didn't go into enough detail in one area and too much in another, but he was the teacher, and he'd make up for that in his lessons.

He added this to the stack of parchment which made up McGonagall's lesson plans, and cleared all of the books from his bed and onto the floor.

He got out of the bed with a stretch and made his way into the bathroom (located through a door just off from the archway into the living room) for a shower.

When he'd dressed, he looked at his watch. It was 10 o'clock. The staff meeting was at 11. He decided that he should have something to eat then head down.

"Winky?"

The elf appeared with a _pop_ and greeted Harry with a low curtsey.

"Yes, Master Potter?"

"Could you bring me some breakfast, please?"

Winky's eyes widened with eagerness, and she disappeared then reappeared almost instantaneously, carrying trays of eggs, sausages, bacon, pancakes and a goblet of pumpkin juice.

By the time Harry had finished, he had half an hour to get to the meeting.

He arrived at the staff room, stack of parchment in his arms, with fifteen minutes to spare. He walked in and looked around to find nobody else there. He put down his load on a coffee table and sat in the soft sofa which nestled behind it, and waited.

The first to arrive was his good friend Neville Longbottom, who beamed and tried to wave at Harry, causing him to drop his own pile of paper.

Harry reflexively pulled out his wand and levitated the stack before it separated out and landed on the floor.

"Thanks." said Neville with a relieved sigh as he pulled them out of the air.

"No problem." replied Harry, knowing all too well the horrors of re-ordering hours of written work.

Just then, a thin, weedy looking woman entered. Her mousy brown hair was tied together haphazardly in an unkempt bun, and her wispy hair was escaping from it, giving her the illusion of a halo. She wore tiny reading glasses perched at the end of her long nose, and she looked over the top of them with steel coloured, ever-shifting eyes.

She didn't seem to notice they were there. She immediately crossed to the nearest armchair and sat stiffly.

"That's Mildred Fengle, the Arithmancy teacher." said Neville.

"She seems a bit… stressed, doesn't she?" asked Harry, eyeing her tense shoulders and slanted eyebrows, which gave the impression that she was trying to solve some complicated equation in her head (which, Harry reminded himself, was probably true.)

The door opened again and Hagrid appeared, who immediately beamed when he saw Harry, and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

"Harry! Its good ter see yeh! It's been months!"

"Hi Hagrid, I've missed you… And these hugs, they really test the strength of my bones…"

Neville chuckled behind him, but Hagrid didn't seem to have heard.

The door opened again, and Hagrid released Harry in favour of looking to see who it was.

It was a very tall man. Harry could have mistaken him for Hagrid if it wasn't for the sleek sandy coloured hair which fell around his face and dusted around his mouth and chin in a tasteful goatee.

He was holding the door open for somebody whom Harry immediately recognised as Horace Slughorn, the school's Potions Master. Upon seeing Harry, his eyes lit up and spoke to the sandy haired man, indicating in Harry's direction, before they both walked over.

Harry braced himself.

"Harry my boy! So good to see you! I've been saying it for a while now that it was high time you joined the teaching staff here at Hogwarts! I've said it for years that you'd make an excellent Defence Professor. I daresay the Ministry have had you for long enough." he gave a jovial chuckle and gestured to the tall man.

"This is Jedediah Hallow. I've been hoping to introduce you for some time now. Before he came here to teach, he had written a few bestsellers documenting his travels across the world and some accounts of wizarding history and prominent wizarding figures. You should see his work on the Hogwarts Founders. He has been dying to meet with you."

Harry shook the hand of the towering man, who was looking a little embarrassed at his introduction.

"Call me Jed, Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Harry managed to extract himself and noticed that the room had filled up with what looked like all of the professors while his attention had been elsewhere.

He vaguely recognised Terry Boot from his Hogwarts days. He nodded to Harry, which Harry returned.

He saw Parvati Patil, who he remembered had taken up position as the Divination professor following Trelawney's retirement seven years ago.

The Transfiguration professor was Doris Crockford, whom Harry had briefly met for the first time in the Leaky Cauldron on his eleventh birthday and again sometime before his seventeenth birthday, when he had left the Dursleys.

Harry smiled upon seeing Dennis Creevy, who was the Muggle Studies professor and the little brother of the deceased Collin Creevy. Harry immediately stopped smiling at this thought, and tore his eyes away from the younger man.

McGonagall burst into the room suddenly, and with a commanding but graceful air, sat down and gestured for the rest of the staff to follow suit. Harry sat down by the stack of parchment he'd left on the coffee table, and watched as the others took up an array of different chairs, turning them around so that they were in a haphazard circle.

"Right." Said McGonagall as she rifled through her own stack of parchment, giving a sigh of victory as she pulled out one in particular, which Harry assumed was the agenda for the staff meeting.

"First of all, we have two new members of staff joining us this year. Jedediah Hallow will be our new Ancient Runes professor, and Harry will be taking up Defence Against the Dark Arts."

There was a smattering of polite applause. Harry felt several eyes bore into him, but he pretended not to notice, and kept his attention on the Headmistress.

"We also have one of those lucky years where September 1st falls on Saturday, which means we have a day off before the new timetable takes effect. However, since we still have pupils in the building and grounds, we still have to make our rounds as usual."

She rifled though her parchment again and began handing out timetables.

Harry found himself excited at the number of empty slots in his timetable – then remembered that this was most likely because of all of the grading he was expected to do.

He sighed. At least he wouldn't have to chase down and incapacitate any students. Or lock them away. Or even give trials.

He just had to teach them and grade them.

Hogwarts was a nice, peaceful place, after all.

…And, except from his night and daytime rounds, he had the whole weekend to himself, which was most certainly a first.

"Potter, I had forgotten to ask this of you during our last meeting, but Madame Hooch has recently resigned her post, and I must ask that you take over flying lessons and Quiddich refereeing for the time being. Would that be manageable for you?"

Harry heart leapt. Flying? Quiddich?

"Of course Professor, I'd be happy to."

"Excellent. Now have there been any problems with lesson plans or book choices?"

There was a resounding mumbling in the negative.

"Excellent. I'll take them with me now and get down to reading them."

She flicked her wand and stacks of paper flew from all directions, including the inside of one of Hagrid's massive pockets, to sit on the coffee table.

McGonagall took a look at the resulting mountain of parchment and sighed.

"This is why the staff meeting is held so long in advance. I'll contact you if there are any issues before the start of term. Now, I think that's it, unless anyone has anything further to add?"

Slughorn cleared his throat loudly.

"Actually, yes professor, I have a proposition. The idea has been buzzing in the back of my mind for some time, but I suppose… What use is an idea if it's not shared?"

McGonagall seemed to consider the portly man over the top of her glasses, causing him to falter slightly.

"Er… I was wondering if… Since there aren't really any traditional events to mark certain celebrations in the school beyond a feast – which we have every evening anyway – I was wondering if we couldn't perhaps start the tradition of having school balls for each of these occasions?"

Some of the teachers sat up straighter and were much keener to pay attention at this, while others, Harry noticed, pinched the bridge of their noses. Harry hid a smirk.

McGonagall sighed and lent back in her chair in thought.

"It's an interesting proposition, Horace. But these things need planned and catered for. When we had the Yule Ball for the Triwizard Tournament all those years ago, it was…"

"Oh, yes!" interrupted Slughorn, "Of course that particular ball required a lot of planning and Galleons thrown at it, but we're not trying to impress foreigners with these balls, Minerva! They're just an excuse to have fun! There's no need for fancy sculptures or fine dining!"

Harry snorted.

"That's true," he found himself saying, "Just give them an excuse to dress up, some Butterbeer, a selection of junk food and loud music and they'll be happy."

Everyone stared.

"Exactly!" chortled Slughorn. "We could have a Masquerade Ball for Halloween, maybe an egg hunt Ball for Easter… We should all look for more ways and reasons to have fun…"

"Alright!" interrupted McGonagall. "I will give this some more thought. When Potter raises an opinion about something, it's usually worth at least pondering, no matter how ridiculous…"

Harry rolled his eyes. She must be referring to his school days.

"Now, I understand that most of you are eager to get back home and enjoy the rest of your summer. The rest of you will be eager to settle in at Hogwarts. I myself am eager to peruse this very… tempting stack of parchment."

She looked at the offending pile of paper and gave a little sniff.

"So I won't keep you any longer. Except you Potter; I need a word."

Harry, who was half way out of his seat, let himself fall back down on it again.

When everybody left, she handed him another sheet of parchment with all of his duties with regards to flying.

McGonagall then regarded Harry with an unnervingly grave look.

"Potter, I've been faced with a sudden distressing situation. Professor Creevy has expressed a wish to abandon his duties as Head of Gryffindor."

"Let me guess…"

"Yes, I would like to ask you to take up the post. But there is more."

"More?"

"Professor Slughorn wants to give up his post as Deputy Headmaster…"

Harry gave a sudden laugh of disbelief. He looked at the Headmistress, expecting her stern face to crack into a grin, but her expression did not change.

"You want me to be_ Deputy Headmaster_?"

"You are definitely the best candidate for the post."

Harry gave a sigh.

"I don't want to draw any more attention to myself."

McGonagall lent forward. Taking off her glasses she looked to Harry in a gentle, consoling and somewhat pleading manner.

"I realise that I'm asking for a lot, Harry. It would mean that your dedication to this school must be absolute. Most of your time would be dedicated to Hogwarts, and to the care, upbringing and safety of the students. It would also be up to you to take over as Headmaster should I resign my post or if something happened to me. But I can't think of anyone better than you, Harry."

Harry lent back in his chair, a hand running through his hair and his breath leaving him slowly and evenly. He'd barely had a chance to swallow the fact he'd been given a teaching job, let alone such a large promotion.

"Can I just accept your offer of the Head of House post for now? I think I need some time to chew on it before I accept… your other offer."

McGonagall nodded.

"Very well, don't hesitate to contact me when you've made a decision. And… since you've accepted the post as Head of Gryffindor, it's up to you to take care of this paperwork and confirm you understand the responsibilities noted in the first few pages."

Harry was startled by an enormous pile of parchment appearing in front of him and yelped as the stack dropped into his lap.

"I must be going now, Harry. Thank you for your time."

And with that, the Headmistress left, leaving a very shocked and confused Harry on the soft sofa, the weight of the parchment in his lap only making him sink deeper into the squashy cushions.

"So let me get this straight," said Ginny as she handed Harry a large mug of steaming tea, "Out of nowhere, the Minister walks into your office and tells you that you have an interview at Hogwarts. You are then hired within two minutes of walking into McGonagall's office. Your office at the Ministry is emptied of your things; Ron is promoted to Head of the Auror Office in your place; Yesterday, I wake up to Kreature appearing on the front doorstep telling me that you've moved into Hogwarts. Now you're telling me that McGonagall has just asked you to be Deputy Headmaster?"

Harry took a biscuit from the tin in the middle of the kitchen table in Godric's Hollow and took an absent minded bite.

"I think McGonagall asked for me specifically. I'm not complaining. I was beginning to feel a bit bored. Hogwarts will be a good change for me."

"Bored? You were chasing dark wizards for a living! How could that be boring?"

"It was turning into a routine. They either run, they hide or they give themselves up. Whatever they do, I always end up catching them. I was never faced with much of a challenge."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"I know you aren't one to blow your own horn Harry, but to listen to you, anyone would think that you were horribly vain."

"Well thank goodness you know me better than 'anyone,' then," Harry replied, lazily taking another chocolate biscuit.

"I don't understand why they were suddenly so eager for you to have the job. If they'd wanted you that badly, surely they would have asked you much earlier? Like maybe right after the war?"

"I dunno. Maybe they knew I wouldn't take the job back then."

"Wouldn't you?"

"No. My mind was all over the place. I was dealing with funerals, Teddy, the Prophet, Death Eater testimonials, Skeeter's bloody biography about me... I mean, you remember it all, don't you? Teaching was the last thing I would have wanted to do then. I needed an excuse to get away, take all of the… rage I had and let loose on something that wouldn't matter. Chasing down the rest of Voldie's gang was a good release for me. Actually, the way I was feeling straight after the battle, I shouldn't have been near children at all."

It was true enough. Harry remembered the feeling that had went with having to settle down after the battle at Hogwarts. It was tantamount to feeling like a walking bomb which could go off at any moment. A bomb of raw anger and euphoria mixed together to form an entirely new emotion altogether. It had made his magic almost volatile and at times, entirely unpredictable. He didn't like to dwell on it. What mattered was the here and now.

"But then after you settled down? After James was born? When you were giving talks at the school? They still waited all of this time to ask you? It sounds fishy to me, Harry."

"I know. I've been thinking the same thing lately. But what's the harm, even if they are up to something? I can trust them, can't I?"

"I suppose. Aren't you getting paid much less though?"

Harry gave a derisive snort.

"So? I've got Galleons coming out of my nostrils, even with the gold I'm transferring to you, the kids, Teddy and the rest of the family. It's a small loss, especially since I won't need to pay for any food. I mean, what else do I spend my money on?"

"Books and broomsticks," nodded Ginny, "not much else. But Harry, why have you suddenly… Just gone with all of this? You've been with the ministry for what – 19 years? And you drop it all immediately?"

Harry was prepared for this question, but despite that, he still didn't know the answer himself.

"It just… feels right, Ginny. I can't explain it. I feel excited about being back at Hogwarts. It feels like I've taken a dose of Felix Felicis and things are just… happening, and it's exciting."

Just then, there was a crash as the door which led out of the kitchen into the large back garden burst open. Instinctively, Harry and Ginny pulled their mugs high off the table as James and Albus Potter bounded into the kitchen and chased each other around the table, before they shot into the hallway and up the stairs.

Harry and Ginny looked at each other as they heard the footsteps suddenly halt, followed by hurried whispering, before the footsteps retreated downstairs, somewhat slower.

Harry raised an eyebrow as his sons hovered shiftily in the doorway.

"Hello boys."

"Hi Dad," said Albus.

"Can we have a biscuit, Mum?" said James.

"If you go and get your sister, yes." replied Ginny.

James, with a sulky nod, retreated back upstairs.

"He's still not speaking to me, right?" Harry muttered to Ginny, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

"Give him some time," Ginny whispered back.

"How are you, Al?" said Harry, putting his glasses back on and regarding his youngest son with a smile.

Albus sat at the table and took a biscuit.

"Alright." was the even response.

Just then, James returned and sat at the table, his eyes determinedly looking away from his father's. Harry noted Lily standing at the doorway looking curious.

"Come in Lily," said Harry, "I have some news for you all."

When Lily sat down, Harry went on to explain the events of the past few days.

"You're going to be our teacher?" said Lily, wide eyed.

"Yep." Said Harry, "What do you think?"

"Cool," said Albus.

"Would we have to call you 'sir'?" piped up Lily.

"Yes, in class."

"I can't wait." said Albus. Harry noticed him looking sideways at his brother warily.

"What do you think, James?" Harry said.

James gave a long sigh and took what Harry suspected was his tenth biscuit.

"Yeah, sounds cool."

"Excellent." concluded Harry, "Now, is everyone ready for Diagon Alley then?"

"Yes!"

Lily was practically glowing with excitement.

Harry smiled as he remembered when he first heard about Hogwarts, and the prospect of getting all of the equipment he needed, including his own wand. He understood his daughter's enthusiasm completely.

**A/N: I hope plot is plausible and the characters have remained as they were originally created, keeping in mind how they may have matured over twenty years and hardened by the war. All I'm changing are the character relationships, which in my opinion, didn't seem real enough to me and were monstrously unsatisfying. It's why I'm beginning to do fics like these – I need to find closure!**

**Somebody asked me why Harry seems angry with Dumbledore. I'll say that he's not angry with Dumbledore, he's angry about being reminded of him (this will be clearer as the story progresses, I think).**

**I'm not giving anything else away though. ;)**

**If ever you think that the characters seem a little off, don't be afraid to question me. I'll either defend myself or rewrite, depending on how sound I find your argument. The same goes for any typing errors or silly things like calling Wibby a "he" (oops).**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Next to come: The trip to Diagon Alley, Harry's decision with regards to his sudden promotion, and a proposition from Jedediah Hallow. **

**Oooooohh… :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! I'm back with some more delightful PB!**

**I apologise for the slow start in terms of plot and the long wait for updates, but please bear with me; it'll be well worth it.**

**Ok, let's do this!**

**I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter. Gutted.**

The Potter family emerged out of the Leaky Cauldron, having just taken the Floo. Harry, who was still feeling peaky after his least favourite form of travel, took out his wand and tapped the third brick from the left above the dustbin.

"Where are we going first?" said Harry, stowing his wand in the holster up his sleeve.

"Gringotts, I think," said Ginny, rifling through her purse. "The kids need money for term and I don't have enough for the shopping."

So they made their way to the other end of the long cobbled road where Gringotts stood, tall and domineering in white marble.

"The Potter vault!" called a goblin as soon as they stepped into the main hall. They were greeted immediately by a humble goblin who bowed them towards the doorway to the carts.

Harry was used to this. Ever since the war, Harry and his steadily growing family had been treated with similar respect that would be treated a saint. Harry used to turn these attentions down, to offended looks. After a rebuking from Hermione, ("You are too modest for your own good, Harry. They want to thank you, so let them.") He grudgingly gave up and simply accepted them, offering a gratuitous smile instead, and praising others who partook in the war whenever the opportunity presented itself.

The family fitted snugly together in the cart, and they were off. They spiralled down the familiar route to Harry's vault; number 687.

It was no longer possible to step inside the vault: Harry's inheritance from both his parents and godfather, (who had belonged to a very ancient, wealthy, pure-blood family), the surprise reward Harry received when he defeated Tom Riddle and his earnings with the ministry meant that his vault was now filled up to the door.

"Why isn't it all falling out?" said Lily.

"Special charm, Miss Potter," said the goblin, puffing out his chest.

"Right, give me your pouches," said Harry.

Once the kids had all handed him their money bags, he preceded to count out equal but generous amounts into each pouch before handing them back.

"I want that to last you _at least _six months," said Ginny firmly.

"Why?" said James, indicating the towering mass of gold, "Dad has enough to buy Hogwarts."

"Don't be smart." snapped Ginny, as Albus snickered into his pouch, "We're saving up so that you'll all be able to live easy lives when you leave your education."

James opened his mouth again, but Harry stopped him with a warning look, to which he scowled and stomped back to the cart.

Giving Ginny the usual "Let's just ignore this display of attitude" look, Harry proceeded to take some money for her and himself.

A few minutes later, the family were back outside, blinking in the summer sunshine. They were having a debate over whether to go to Madam Malkin's or Flourish and Blotts when they were interrupted by a familiar voice calling them.

"Ginny! Harry!" It was Hermione, followed closely by her children, Rose and Hugo, both with flaming red hair, which they had inherited from their father, Ron, who was bringing up the rear.

"All right?" he said to Harry in greeting. His eyebrows were raised, and Harry knew that a discussion concerning Harry's sudden career change was imminent.

"Not now, Ron, let's get the shopping done first." said Hermione, giving Harry a "you're impossible but we love you" sort of smile.

"Where're you heading to now?" said Ginny.

"Got to get Hugo his wand" replied Ron, ruffling his son's hair.

"Has Lily got hers yet?" asked Hermione.

"Not yet!" Lily said suddenly by Ginny's elbow, "Mummy, can we go with them, please? I can't wait to see what wand chooses me. I've read any book I could find on wand lore, but I simply don't have a clue what I'll get…" Lily was shining with enthusiasm, and Hermione was startled, though clearly impressed.

"Ginny… Are you sure we didn't switch babies at the hospital?" said Hermione amusedly.

"Perhaps you've just been more of an influence than we thought," said Harry.

"Actually," piped up Lily once more, startling the adults again, "Auntie 'Mione reads pretty much _anything_. I'm more like you, Dad. I won't read anything unless I'm _sure_ it will interest me."

"Lily?" said James, who was hovering to the side, looking grumpy.

"Yeah?"

"Nobody cares."

"James!" Ginny snapped, "You're treading on thin ice, young man!"

Lily scowled at her brother and discreetly made a very rude gesture, which was missed by Ginny, who was busy giving James her signature glare.

Harry rolled his eyes at this exchange and instead consulted his watch.

"Let's go then," he said to his large extended family, leading the way towards Ollivander's.

When they entered the shop, Harry began to feel like his daughter's excitement was rubbing off on him. When everyone had squeezed inside the shop, Ollivander appeared suddenly behind the counter, and beamed when the identity of his customers became apparent.

"Ah!" he exclaimed dramatically, "It's that time again, is it? Who shall it be this time? A Potter, or a Weasley?"

"Both," said Hugo quietly, gently pulling Lily up with him by the hand.

Harry smirked in amusement as the elderly man gasped delightedly.

"Oh, very good! Well then… who shall go first?" said Ollivander.

Hugo gestured to Lily with a gracious smile.

Ollivander clapped his hands excitedly and a measuring tape promptly flew across the room and began measuring various limbs.

"Now, let's see…" Muttered Ollivander, peering at Lily with some interest.

"Perhaps…"

Muttering to himself, He pulled a box from the shelf and handed a greyish looking wand. The measuring tape disappeared.

"Willow and Dragon Heartstring. Nine inches. Quite springy.

Lily gave the wand a wave.

The temperature in the room suddenly rose.

Ollivander snatched the wand back with a look of alarm.

"Merlin's beard! Absolutely not! Perhaps we should try…"

He pulled another box from the shelf behind him.

"Willow and Unicorn hair. 10 inches. Swishy."

He handed it over, and when Lily took hold of it, the floor began to vibrate.

"Goodness me!" exclaimed Ollivander, diving across the counter to take the wand back. "Not quite as you appear to be, are you, Miss Potter? Very surprising."

Lily smiled sweetly.

"Of course, sir. I still surprise my family, I think"

Ollivander raised an eyebrow. The rest of the Potter-Weasley clan were nodding in agreement.

"Hmm…" he turned back to his shelves and scanned the labels on the boxes.

"We can't have the Apocalypse start in my shop. It'll be bad for business. We must find a wand which can handle you, Miss Potter."

Harry laughed at the scowl on Lily's face.

He selected another box, then another, then another.

Ollivander was steadily getting more and more alarmed by the effects of each wand.

"It's isn't the wood…"

Ollivander mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.

He sighed, and pulled out some notes from behind the counter and studied them, balancing a pair of reading glasses on the end of his nose.

After some time, in which he would sniff at the parchment in front of him and mutter darkly under his breath, he seemed to come to a decision. He crouched down behind the counter and pulled out another box, which Harry thought looked very dusty and worn with age.

He held out a very ornamental looking wand of reddish looking wood. Harry noticed that his hand was shaking,

Lily took the wand.

Harry watched, transfixed, as, closing her eyes, she brought the rosy wood down from her head in a spiral, leaving a trail of white light dancing around her as an invisible wind lifted her red hair to fly around her frame. After a while, Lily opened her eyes and let out a slow breath, which seemed to cause the magic to stop.

"Wow," breathed Lily.

The whole room exploded in applause.

Harry, who was watching Ollivander's grave face closely, noticed that the elderly man had collapsed in his seat, looking haggard.

"Mr Ollivander? Is something the matter?"

"I never thought I'd see that wand choose anyone, Mr Potter. It was… procurred by my father before his passing. You see, my father did not just use the three cores which I favour. He frittered about with all sorts, Mr. Potter. Most weren't very reliable at all, being too unpredictable, too powerful, too rare, or too…"

Ollivander eyed the wand in Lily's hand and gave a shudder.

"My father didn't make this wand. He was harvesting wood in some faraway forest when he heard a twig break. Now, it was pitch black, and he felt the remarkably strong magic of a non-wizard nearby. It really struck him, the amount of power he could sense. Of course, he was terrified. But the creature wasn't hostile. Despite it being dark, the creature allowed itself to be seen by allowing its skin to glow. It was crying hysterically, but silent. It was an Elve."

Hermione let out a gasp.

"An elf?" said Harry.

"Not an elf, Harry. An Elve," said Hermione. "They are very powerful creatures, and rarely show themselves to humans. They are above us in power and intelligence by an infinitesimal degree, that they consider us too lowly to interact with. They are said to be the closest in power and wisdom to a god. They are a different colour according to what particular power it masters."

"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Weasley," said Ollivander, "This particular Elve was light turquoise in colour, and with blue hair."

"That's… Unusual," said Hermione.

"Quite. My father tried to find any record of a similar sighting, but he couldn't find one. He pointed out a picture of the Hindu goddess Kali to me, mentioning that it looked almost exact, except without the extra arms, and the hair was, of course, not hair, but light. The wand I have just presented your daughter was made by this creature. As was this wand."

He pulled out another box from under the counter. He looked at Hugo, then handed him the wand.

Hugo instinctively twirled his wand down in the same manner as his cousin, causing the same sliver light to dance across his features.

"Miss Potter's wand is of Cherry, while Mr Weasley's is made of Cedar. They were the two wand woods that he had harvested that night from that very same forest. My father was asked by the creature to hand over the wood. The creature then cried, spilling tears all over the wood. They began to shine that same silver which we have just been privy to. The Elve then gave them back to my father, still crying, telling him that the two who were to receive these wands would be a boy and a girl. One will have qualities of wit and bravery, and the other with kindness and cunning, but they won't be clear to anyone but each other. The creature also said that they will meet, and that she is deeply sorry for what it will mean when they do."

**A/N: I'm sorry I've kept this one rather short, but I figured you guys had waited long enough. This was a little more complicated than I thought it was going to be, which is why the long wait. I hope it didn't suck. I wish there was a better way to introduce all of that information without your brains exploding. Sorry about that!**

**Having said that, if you did like it, I'm happy!**

**I reckon Harry/Dumbles goodness will be happening in about three or four chapters, providing I get as far as Jedediah again during the next chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello everyone! I find myself overwhelmed with college and different things cropping up which pertains to my other online hobbies (Harry Potter fansites, Guild Wars 2 Beta signup anticipation, Youtube…) So… Sorry for the sluggish updates. But I'm writing as fast as I can. Without compromising on the quality, of course! (I hope.)**

**I'm sure your brains are exploding a little about the tiny plot twist I left you with in the previous chapter. Although it seems huge and drastic right now, it is actually a tiny detail in my massive plot. I assure you that this seemingly random creation was not made for the sake of it. It was completely necessary, but I can't explain why until later on in the story, or else I'd give too much away. I wish I didn't have to make this creation, because it isn't part of J.K's world. I will explain more about this when the time is right. Please don't lose faith! :)**

***Insert witty comment about how _I don't own Harry Potter_ here.***

The family went about the rest of their shopping with an unusual absence of laughter or bickering.

The parents of Hugo and Lily tried in vain to cheer their charges up with conversation about books, school and the like, steering tactfully clear of the subject of wands.

Their answering smiles never seemed to reach their eyes and their ashen faces remained drained of colour.

The two cousins conversed in whispers, and Harry was reminded of himself, Ron and Hermione when they were the same age, whispering about Nicolas Flammel.

He shuddered at the thought of them getting caught up in their own dangerous adventure.

After they had done all of their shopping, and after Hermione had expertly had all of their shopping shrunk so as not to alarm the Muggles with their oddly shaped parcels and after Harry, who was the only one wearing a cloak, transfigured the offending green robe it into a fleece, Harry decided to buy them all an expensive dinner at a restaurant in Muggle London in a desperate bid to diffuse the tension which had been thick in the air for the entire day.

"So," said Ron, after they'd ordered their food and the younger members of the family where talking amongst themselves, "Are you going to tell us why you up and left the ministry to start a teaching career?"

Harry and Ginny re-enacted their conversation from earlier that day. Harry watched Hermione as they spoke. Her brow gradually getting more and more wrinkled as they spoke.

Eventually, Harry turned properly to Hermione.

"What're you thinking?"

Hermione sighed and took a sip of her Merlot.

"I think McGonagall is hiding something."

Harry nodded slowly.

"…and she isn't making much of an effort to hide whatever it is she's hiding."

Harry frowned.

"How do you figure?"

"Well, she was very abrupt with offering you the job let alone that promotion. Plus I think you should have a word with Kingsly. He was the one who told you to go to Hogwarts, wasn't he? It was all very sudden. Too sudden, I think, for it to be a coincidence."

Harry sighed.

"Yes… Yes, I know. Of course they're up to something. But… No matter what they're doing; I can still trust them, can't I?"

Hermione took another thoughtful sip of Merlot.

"Yes, of course. Just be on your guard."

"The best way to find out what they're up to is to just go with it mate," said Ron.

"Exactly," said Ginny, "And it's best for you to be at Hogwarts." She leant in closer and whispered, "I'm extremely worried about Lily and Hugo and those bloody wands. I want you to keep them safe, Harry."

Harry nodded.

"I think you should take the promotion, Harry," said Hermione suddenly.

Harry looked up.

"You do?"

"Yes. An Elve is going to appear to Hugo and Lily. Hugo and Lily are going to be at Hogwarts for the majority of the next few years. Harry, I won't be happy unless my son is protected, and I can't think of anyone better."

Harry frowned.

"I can protect Hugo and Lily, whether I am Deputy Headmaster or not."

"For goodness sake, Harry. Pick up a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and give it a read. Basically, if you become Headmaster, your mind becomes linked with the conscience of the school."

Harry stared.

"Hogwarts is _alive_. And is probably the only magical being who can surpass the ability of an Elve."

Harry took off his glasses and pinched the top of his nose.

"So… You want me to become Headmaster so that I can team up with Hogwarts to protect Hugo and Lily from this Elve?"

"In a nutshell, yes."

"But I'll only be Deputy…"

"It's a step closer."

Harry put on his glasses and looked hard at Hermione.

"First I'm a DADA teacher, then Head of Gryffindor, then Deputy Headmaster. Now you're convincing me to be Headmaster?"

Hermione was looking hard into her wine glass, swilling the contents in circles.

"I just want Hugo and Lily to be safe," she said quietly.

Harry leant back in his chair, closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Eventually he held up his hands in surrender.

"Okay, I'll accept the promotion!"

The younger members of the family looked up at Harry from the other end of the table.

"What promotion?" asked Lily.

"Your father is going to be Deputy Headmaster," replied Ginny hoarsely, after gulping down the rest of the dry white wine left in her glass.

"You're kidding!" said Albus.

"You've only just got there!" added Hugo.

"Tell us about it," said the adults in unison.

Just then, the family's food arrived and not much more was said until they left the restaurant.

Harry left the Potter residence in Godric's Hollow later that evening.

With his head still buzzing from the events of that day, he crossed the length of the garden beyond the wards which he had personally put up himself nineteen years ago, and apparated back to Hogwarts.

He walked slowly through the gate. The sun was beginning to set, and he cast a long shadow across the grounds. He could not shake off a feeling of worry about Lily and Hugo. He tried hard to think about what the best course of action was to help them.

The first thought to flash into his mind was to ask Dumbledore. Harry gave a derisive snort in response to his own suggestion. And yet…

The sixteen year old Harry wouldn't hesitate to go to Dumbledore about something this mysterious, not to mention worrying.

Dumbledore's portrait hung in the McGonagall's office. Why couldn't he just talk to him?

"I shouldn't need to," Harry muttered, kicking a stone harshly as he neared the stone steps.

Over the years, Harry had been met with many obstacles. Every time, he had thought to himself, 'If only Dumbledore were here, he would know exactly what to do or say.'

And every time he thought this, his blood would instantly boil with anger.

'Dumbledore is dead. He can't help me. He has moved on. I should move on too.'

But he never did. He would continue to think about that man. He would think about how his eyes glittered. How he had seemed to care for Harry, know everything about him, and yet not offer any detail about his own life. He would think about how he'd used everyone around him in life in order to win the war. For the greater good.

"Harry!" called a voice in the distance behind him.

Turning around, Harry spotted Slughorn waving at him, his face flushed with the effort to catch up with him.

Harry, with an inward groan, descended the steps again and attempted to hide his lack of enthusiasm with regards to talking to the man.

When Slughorn reached him, he bent double with his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath.

"Harry… It seems… I have… A problem."

"Do you need to sit down?" said Harry, concerned about the red-faced man's blood pressure.

"That's alright m'boy, this'll do nicely," he said, taking a seat on the large stone steps in front of the imposing castle doors.

"I have just been out seeing to some new muggleborn students, Harry. There is one prospective student to whom I believe you are related."

"Who?" said Harry, who was now racking his brains for any living relatives.

"Petunia Dursley."

Harry's heart leapt into his mouth.

"Her father, once he realised I was a wizard, was incredibly shrewd and asked if I knew you. Of course, I said that you and I were good friends and colleagues. When I explained that little Petunia had a place at Hogwarts, the young man went deathly pale. He told me to send you to him as soon as possible."

He looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry was still getting over the shock of a Dursley being magical, and was looking back with his mouth open.

"Harry?"

Harry snapped out of it.

"Right, yeah! I'm going."

And he hurried back down the lane and through the wrought iron gates to disapparate.

He apparated in Surrey on a street which he knew to be very close to Privet Drive, but he could never remember the name of it.

It was now dark, and the street lights were only just flickering into life.

He walked along the dark road; passing houses which were identical in every way save for their numbers.

He finally reached number 47, and stepped over the low wall to knock on the door.

The door opened to reveal his cousin Dudley.

"Hey," he said in greeting. With a tight half-smile, he let Harry in. Shutting the door, he motioned Harry to follow him into the kitchen.

Sitting at the table were two people. One person he hadn't seen since Dudley's wedding fifteen years ago. It was Aunt Petunia.

She nodded her head stiffly in acknowledgement of him and took a sip of tea from a cup which she was clutching with two shaky hands.

The other was Harry's first cousin once removed, Petunia Dursley Junior.

She had her father's watery blue eyes and blonde hair which was long and wispy. But Harry knew that for the most part, that's where the similarities ended. While her father's features were rather pig-like in nature, hers were much less pronounced.

Harry looked around, expecting to see Vernon, Harry's uncle, Rita, Dudley's wife, or even Dudley's younger child Harvey.

Dudley saw this.

"Dad has taken Harvey and Rita into town. We need to talk before he gets back."

Harry finally started to understand the family's predicament. Vernon Dursley hated magic, and had bullied Harry relentlessly during his childhood for being as such. He was also a big man. No doubt Aunt Petunia and Dudley were worried about how Uncle Vernon would react to this turn of events.

Harry looked at little Petunia closely. She looked very frightened and confused. She looked at her grandmother and touched her arm. Aunt Petunia, who had been staring in front of her, jumped at the contact, making her namesake look even more frightened.

"Grandma… What's wrong? Have I done something wrong?"

Petunia let out a shaky sigh and put her mug down. She looked up at Dudley, who took Harry to the side. He whispered to Harry desperately.

"There… is there no way of… I dunno… _Stopping_ someone from being… Y'know?"

Harry resisted the urge to respond with anger with some difficulty.

"No Dudley. Your daughter is a witch. Merlin knows how magic ever survived Uncle Vernon's genes, but there you have it. If she doesn't learn how to use her magic, then she won't be able to control it. That would be a danger to both her and everyone around her."

Dudley sighed heavily.

"I dunno Harry. Your world is dangerous. That wizard guy… Lord someone…"

"He's dead."

"Yeah, but… What if another one comes along?"

"Then I'll kill him too."

Dudley stared.

"I have just been given the post of Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts. I assure you that your daughter will not be harmed while she is in my care. The other teachers would say the same."

Dudley looked pained. But he nodded slowly and decisively, as if preparing himself mentally for a flight to the moon.

"Alright then. What do we do now?"

"Where is her letter?"

Dudley reached into the drawer he was standing next to and retrieved the very familiar letter Harry himself had received twenty seven years ago. He held it up and looked at Harry blankly.

"Well, give it to her."

"Oh, right. Yeah."

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Dudley sat down as the table and handed his daughter the letter.

She took the envelope with shaking hands and looked around at everyone, looking increasingly anxious.

"U-uncle Harry?"

Harry gave the girl an encouraging smile,

"Go ahead. Read it."

Harry inwardly sighed when the colour slowly returned to the girl's pale face. Her anxiety had changed to a look of wonder and excitement within the space of half an hour.

"So… you're a wizard?"

"That's right."

"Do some magic!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. Petunia faltered slightly.

"I mean… Please?"

Smiling slightly, Harry released his wand from its holster.

He pointed his wand at the pile of unwashed dishes by the sink. They immediately began to wash themselves.

Aunt Petunia whimpered loudly. Harry, thinking that she was whimpering about the use of magic, wheeled around to lecture her about how she should get used to it.

What she had actually whimpered about was Uncle Vernon in the doorway, looking at the dishes, then at Harry, and looking mutinous.

Rita, Dudley's wife, who was close to Dudley in terms of proportion and sporting the same blonde hair as her husband's, walked around Uncle Vernon. Her content expression was halted when she took one look at the dishes.

At first she looked quizzical. Then, suddenly, she fainted.

Dudley rushed to her and put one of the cushions from the kitchen seats under her head.

"This wasn't the best way for her to find out."

Harry wasn't listening. His gaze was locked with Vernon's.

"_What do you think you're doing, boy_?" he hissed.

"I was just showing your granddaughter what she'll be learning at school."

Harry watched as his uncle's face turned its customary shade of puce.

His eyes darted around the room, until they settled on his granddaughter.

Before he even began to move towards her, as Harry knew he would. Harry gave him his most menacing stare.

"I will also be teaching her how to defend herself against heartless prejudiced bullies like you."

Surprisingly, Vernon's face turned suddenly pale. He turned and stormed out of the house.

After a while, Petunia stood up, eyeing the animated dishes with an expression that Harry couldn't read and quietly followed her husband out of the door.

Harry flicked his wand and the dishes stopped moving; dropping into the full basin with a dull _clunk._

He then knelt next to Rita, and pointed his wand at her heart.

"_Ennervate_."

**A/N: THANK YOU to all of you who have reviewed and shown enthusiasm for this story. **

**To FreshPrinceLover: Yes, he has always been auburn in my mind – I just tend to put gingers, strawberry blondes and auburns under the "redhead" category. :D **

**It drove my best friend mad,**

"**I'm not a redhead, I'm strawberry blonde!" **

**Ah… Endless amusement. XD**

**Just a random Potterhead rant:**

**The films aren't a reliable guide at all when it comes to figuring out Hogwarts' architecture. It keeps changing, plus I have never seen large stone steps in the films, except maybe outside the boathouse, which, in the books, was underneath Hogwarts. I could go on about these inconsistencies.**

**There was also no suspension bridge to my knowledge in any of the books. And a clock tower was mentioned ONCE in POA and it wasn't even specified WHERE it was. Why then make it a central theme? **

**Oh yeah… Also, HE DOESN'T HAVE HIS MOTHER'S EYES!**

***frownyface***

***shakes head and reminds self that if the films are good enough for Jo, then they're good enough for me***


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **

**Wooo! Another update!**

**I apologise for the slow updates, but my first year of college is nearing its end which means a looooot of coursework has needed doing. On the plus side, I have three months of summer holidays so no doubt there will be many, many more updates and far more frequent.**

**Hi everyone! Thank You AGAIN for all of your support. I have been, up until now, very unconfident about the quality of my writing. Thank you for giving me confidence! *hugs* **

**I would also like to apologise to anyone who was expecting 30 chapters of juicy HP/AD erotica. This is a romance, of course, but on the whole, this isn't going to be a story to physically pleasure one's self to. I have also said from the beginning _that it would be as believable as possible_. If I were to ignore any of the characters and relationships that JK has created, then _it would not be believable. _It will be slow, but slow is good.**

**I assure you all that although these little goings on seem like several different stories within one, they will all come together.**

**Here is the fic!**

**I don't own Harry Potter.**

Two days later found Harry in his office.

He had talked to a few more muggleborn students on McGonagall's request and had escorted some of them through Diagon Alley with their parents, including Dudley and Rita, who had gotten over her shock slowly, but had the look of someone who is accepting what she sees because she is expecting to wake up.

Harry was almost finished his paperwork. At the beginning of the day, there had been piles of it. Student timetables, Quiddich, flying lessons, Deputy Head duties, Head of House duties… The list seemed endless.

But Harry, who had made use of some self-writing quills as well as hard work, had reduced the list down to the agenda of the next staff meeting.

Deciding that since the next staff meeting wasn't for another couple of months, and there wasn't much to talk about yet, he left this task for a later date.

He put away his quills and empty parchment then flicked his wand to make the paperwork sort itself into categories.

Stretching, he got out of his chair and opened the door to his office.

He walked right into Jedediah Hallow.

"Sorry there, Harry," he said, catching his shoulders before he fell backwards from the momentum.

"I just came for a quick chat."

Harry cast his mind around for any excuse not to invite the man into his office. Finding none, that was exactly what he did.

"Would you like some tea?" asked Harry, pointing his wand towards a tray on the window sill on which a kettle and two mugs rested.

"Ah… Yes please. Just milk, please."

Harry flicked his wand and the kettle began to boil.

Sitting down at his desk, he flicked his wand again, and teabags flew into the cups and the boiling water poured in each. With the necessary amount of sugar (for just Harry) and milk added and the teabags disposed of, they floated and landed neatly in front of their respective owners.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" said Harry, now giving Jed his full attention.

Jed, who was a good few heads taller than Harry, even sitting down, put his cup down after taking a long gulp of the scalding tea and took a breath.

"Well, I wanted to propose something. A favour of sorts."

Harry said nothing, but allowed his eyes to remain engaged with Jed's as he took a sip of his tea.

"Professor Slughorn touched on the subject of my travels when we first met and about my career as a historical writer. You remember this?"

Harry nodded, wondering where this was going.

"Well," Jed continued carefully, "Are you aware that your story regarding your defeat of Voldemort is of particular historic significance?"

"Er…" Said Harry, trying to put together in his mind and answer which both conveyed his ignorance to this piece of information and to point out all of the other people who contributed to Riddle's downfall.

"Did you also know," continued Jed, interrupting Harry's train of thought, "That despite many attempts to document in detail exactly what transpired within the war, there remains many holes and many unanswered questions? There are many people who still look upon the war with confusion. You remain the best person to tell the wizarding community about the war, because, although you are adamant that you had a lot of help, it can't be denied that you played a catalytic role. You alone know every important detail there is to know about the war, and yet you have said very little about it."

Harry took a long slow breath. He didn't know whether to feel affronted or guilty.

"The only version of the story which seemed believable was this."

And Jed produced from inside his robes a lime-green and pink book with metallic writing. He dropped the book onto Harry's desk with a look of contempt.

"When I say believable, I mean it's believable to anybody who isn't aware of Rita Skeeter's tendency to lie or twist the truth."

Harry looked at the book and gave a snort. It was the biography of himself which Skeeter had had published shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts. The title of the book read: _The War and Harry Potter: All You Want to Know._

"Have you read it?" asked Jed.

Harry shook his head.

"I know there will be barely a hint of solid fact in it. I don't care enough to read it."

"The problem is that what is in this book is the only source of information the wizarding community have on the war. Now, you and I both know that most of it is a load of tripe. But the community won't necessarily know that."

Harry let out a groan as what Jed was communicating settled firmly in his gut.

"What… What are you suggesting we do about it?"

Jed leant forward with a sense of controlled eagerness, his eyes now fully locked on to Harry's.

"I want to write your story."

Harry pursed his lips.

"I won't publish anything which you didn't approve of first."

Harry sighed heavily.

"But I wasn't the only one who…"

"I know Harry. You were not the only one who contributed to the defeat of Riddle. So this is the perfect opportunity to give them the credit they deserve."

Harry let out a slow breath and leant back in his chair. This was a good opportunity to get the real story out there. Perhaps, with this book, he would be subject to less hero worship and more of it going towards those who truly deserve it. He would be able to prove he was sane (Skeeter had alluded to the contrary a few times) and a victim of circumstance rather than the "Chosen One" that many people believed him to be.

"Okay. Let's do it."

Harry spent the next few days getting his classroom ready and his schedule prepared along with flying lessons, defence lessons, timetables for the students and other bits and pieces which fell to the Deputy Headmaster. He often had to answer to the problems of the other teachers, the latest of which being Neville's Devil's Snare overgrowing again and strangling the Mandrakes.

He also managed to include time for him and Jed to get together and work on the book. Harry made a point of sending an owl to Ginny, Ron and Hermione telling them about the book and whether they thought it was a good idea. To say that both of them replied in the positive would be an understatement.

Apart from this, the rest of his summer had been pretty peaceful, until one day, McGonagall came into his office, looking haggard.

"Harry, I'm afraid the press are here. It really was only a matter of time…"

Harry stood up immediately and followed the headmistress out of the door and down to the Entrance Hall with a look of resignation on his face.

"Of course I have been expecting this. I'm surprised it's taken them this long."

"Harry," said McGonagall, who was mirroring Harry's stride with ease, "They know about your divorce."

"Hmm."

He wasn't overly surprised to hear that, but it didn't stop him from being curious about where in the name of Merlin's saggy left man boob they get their information from, considering how secret his divorce had been.

When they arrived at the top of the marble staircase, they were greeted by flashing bulbs and shouts. Harry was unaware that there were more than two wizarding newspaper and magazine publishers until he saw these thirty or so photographers and journalists littering the hallway, all clamouring for a photo or to ask a question.

Harry released his wand from the holster and brought it to his throat.

"_Sonorus._"

Harry's voice echoed around the hall.

"If you have a question to ask me, then it would be easier if you all asked me one at a time. Hands up please; we can exercise my teaching skills."

A witch standing at the foot of the staircase half-raised her hand timidly.

Harry nodded in her direction.

"Are the rumours that you and Ginevra Potter have had a divorce true?"

Harry hesitated. He didn't want to draw attention to his love life, and he didn't want Ginny or any of his family to be scrutinised. However, the secret was already out, so there was little point in denying it.

"Yes, that is true."

Another witch put up her hand.

"What was the reason for your divorce?"

Harry sighed.

"With that matter, I would appreciate it if the public would respect mine and my ex-wife's privacy."

There were many whispers, and a few more hands went in the air. Harry indicated to a wizard who was standing near the Great Hall.

"What are your motivations for making such a drastic change to your career?"

The next hour or so continued in much the same manner.

It was with a yawn and a stretch of his aching muscles that Harry greeted the tapestry which marked the entrance of his quarters.

He was startled when looking back at him was not Fawkes the phoenix, but Albus Dumbledore. In fact, Harry swore loudly and backed into the opposite wall so forcefully that the resulting _smack _made Dumbledore's picture wince.

"I apologise, Harry."

Harry felt his heart plummet to the pit of his stomach as he looked back at the image of his old mentor. He took a steadying breath.

"Professor Dumbledore. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I wanted to re-acquaint myself with my favourite student and the new Deputy Headmaster of my… That is, _the_ school."

Dumbledore's eyes were fixed on Harry's face, searching. Harry looked everywhere but at Dumbledore's face. He couldn't.

"May I come in?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry looked up with a confused frown.

"Come in? How?"

"My other portrait is in this room somewhere, but it isn't on the wall. If you could locate it and hang it on the empty picture hook above the fireplace, we could chat with you sitting comfortably."

Dumbledore's expression was light and almost indifferent, but his eyes seemed to express something else. They drew Harry in. He was now unable to look away.

Harry made to touch the tapestry to let him in, but stopped. What would happen to Dumbledore when the picture turns to smoke?

"I'll be fine," said Dumbledore with a twinkling smile.

Harry rolled his eyes and touched the tapestry, letting himself in. Immediately, Harry, with his heart pounding, looked around desperately for the empty portrait.

"Harry…"

Harry stopped. That was Dumbledore's voice.

"Harry, I'm over here…"

The voice was coming from his bedroom. Harry dashed across his living room and stepped up into his room.

"Sir?"

"Harry, I'm here."

This time, Harry heard him coming clearly from underneath his bed.

Crouching down, he lifted up the sheet to look. A gold framed portrait lay there, face – down. Carefully, Harry lifted the picture up and out from under his bed.

Taking another sigh, as if preparing himself, he turned the portrait around to face him.

"Thank you, Harry. Now please put me back to my proper home above the fireplace."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: When I went to save this chapter for the first time, it suggested, for the file name, "Harry mounted " Lawl. I was like, "No, we're not there yet…" XD**

**But oh… I hope you all have a nice little squee. **

**I don't own Harry Potter. Jed is mine, though.**

Harry mounted Dumbledore's portrait above the fireplace.

"Why was your portrait underneath my bed?" he asked.

"That is a good question," Dumbledore replied matter-of-factly, "It appeared here, above the fireplace upon my death, as I had intended it to be. I have since had no reason to visit it again until recently. Imagine my surprise when I could only see darkness from this canvas rather than the view of my old quarters."

Harry's heart sank to his chest again. Of course, he should have guessed. Forgetting all sense decorum in front of his old mentor, he sat down heavily on the leather sofa.

"Are there any more surprises in store for me that I should know about?"

Dumbledore merely chuckled.

Harry sighed in annoyance and sunk further into the comfortable sofa.

"I suppose you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Do you think I need a particular reason to see you, Harry?"

Harry thought back to all of the times he had interacted with Dumbledore when he was alive. The mirror of erised, the aftermath of his run-in with Quirrell, after he had felled the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, when he suggested how they could save Sirius using the Time-Turner … They were all reasons beyond simply talking to Harry.

"Yes sir, you have always needed a reason to talk to me."

He said this a little more harshly than he had intended. He was feeling anger which he couldn't explain rising within his chest.

Harry's thoughts continued to wander back through his Hogwarts years, specifically the times when he was with Dumbledore. It was during his fourth year, he recalled, when he had first felt like Dumbledore truly cared about him. But was that true? When the Portkey took him from that graveyard and back to Hogwarts, clutching Cedric's body, Harry had been lifted clear off the ground by the man and set upon the ground in order to speed along his recovery. But then… He had wanted to question Harry about what he had witnessed in the graveyard.

But there was also that instant when Harry had been abducted by the death eater who was under the guise of Mad-Eye Moody, Barty Crouch Junior. Harry remembered seeing Dumbledore truly angry and understanding why he had the reputation of being such a powerful wizard. But he would have been angry anyway. He had been fooled into taking in a death eater and putting his students in danger; not just Harry.

Then, of course, the fact that Dumbledore had made a point of avoiding him completely during his fifth year…

Then there was the "lessons." they weren't specifically for Harry. They were to help him defeat Voldemort.

Harry shut his eyes against these thoughts. He was being selfish. Of course it was wrong of him to expect Dumbledore to care about him more than his other students. His insides bubbled and his heart felt tight in his chest. He didn't know why he cared so much.

"Harry…"

Harry came out of his reverie.

"Sorry sir, my mind wandered. It has a habit of doing that these days."

Harry knew this was a pathetic excuse.

He looked up and was startled by Dumbledore's intense gaze. He felt that familiar feeling of being X-rayed which he had come to associate with Dumbledore wanting to know more than he did. But it was more than that. It was like the man was trying desperately to communicate something to him which he had no choice but to hold back.

"Harry…" he repeated again softly.

Harry merely looked back, caught of guard by his unguarded tone of voice which sounded so alien coming from Dumbledore. His eyes had lost their twinkle and were instead hard and glazed over.

Harry didn't like this.

He felt hot.

He stood up abruptly, startling Dumbledore. He moved around the sofa and to the window, which he opened up to let in the evening air. The sun was setting and casting a golden tinge across the grounds. But Harry wasn't looking at that. He could feel Dumbledore's gaze on his back. He looked across the grounds to the embankment by the lake where Dumbledore's tombstone stood.

He took in the solidarity of it. It was there; tangible. He knew that the headmaster's body was buried inside it.

He turned to look at the portrait behind him. Dumbledore's face was hard and unreadable.

Harry listened to his heart. It was beating fast as though he were running.

He didn't like this.

There was a rushing sound coming from the empty wall which was the entrance. Harry moved to see who it was and found it to be Jed.

"Wow," he said, "You have seriously cool quarters."

Harry's eyes darted back to Dumbledore's portrait. It was empty. He let out a breath which he didn't know he had been holding.

"Harry, I was thinking today we should talk about your relationship with Professor Dumbledore. We seriously need to clear up the mess Skeeter made of that…"

"NO!"

Harry found himself breathing heavily out of the window, taking in the air as if it were an antidote to the tightness in his chest.

"Sorry Jed, I mean…Let's just do this in a chronological order. We'll focus on the events first, rather than go into details about my feelings towards… I mean my relationships."

Jed surveyed him carefully, a look of concern creasing his brow.

"Okay. So… Should we start from your dealings with Quirrell and the Philosopher's Stone?"

"No," said Harry softly, his head now clear enough to make room for more anger towards his old headmaster. "No, we'll start from when Dumbledore left me on my aunt and uncle's doorstep."

**A/N: Hope you like! I am now sweating! This is mostly because my laptop is very hot, but also because I'm getting a high from writing. **

**Your honesty about the quality of my writing and how well I have conveyed what needed to be conveyed is precious at this moment in time, which is why I'd be very grateful for your feedback.**

**Thank you for being wonderful readers!**

**xxxxx**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hello folks! **

**I hope that I don't write something which becomes firmly un-cannon via Pottermore. So far so good, but… Meh.**

**I'm sorry that there is a lot of direct speech in the chapter. On the plus side, most of it is between Harry and Dumbles. Yay! Enjoy.**

**I don't own Harry Potter and any related shizz.**

Harry settled into a routine every evening. He would have his dinner on the coffee table at 5 o'clock – when he would arrive back from his office, then he would settle at his desk to brainstorm anything which he could remember from his Hogwarts days and apply a date to them so he would have an organised mess of a time line for Jed to look at. Jed would often come in to help and show Harry his own contribution and to collaborate on what should be done next.

"Perhaps we should publish each school year as a separate book?" suggested Jed softly, as he made some notes on the opposite side of Harry's desk.

"Why?" said Harry, looking up from his own work.

"The money?" replied Jed with a smirk.

Harry gave him an unamused look, but his eyes smiled.

"Nah," continued Jed, "I just think that since it might take a while…"

"Take a while? We've already got most of it done!"

Jed frowned.

"You think so?"

"You _don't_ think so?"

Jed rifled through his pile of notes and produced some kind of rough plan, which he handed to Harry.

"That's a list of things which the community want to know and which only you can answer. We haven't really touched on them yet…"

Harry was appalled at some of the subjects.

"Why are so many of them so…Personal? They want to hear more about my love life than the war!"

"You're a celebrity," Jed mumbled, "It's to be expected.

"I am _not_ going to talk about my love life."

Jed sighed and took the list. He crossed off some things on the list and handed it back.

"Some of these are alright though…" Harry mused as he read through it again. "But… Jed! I said I _wasn't_ going to talk about my relationships!"

He pointed out one of the items on the agenda to Jed.

"You said _love life_!" Jed argued, "Dumbledore isn't part of your love life!"

"Yeah, but…"

"You can't avoid talking about Dumbledore, Harry! It's clear that he's almost as much a catalyst in the war as you were. What's the problem, anyway?"

"Er… Nothing."

Harry sighed, and went back to his own work, pulling out a list of his interactions with Dumbledore which he had, for some reason, been inclined to leave out so that he could avoid thinking back to them.

"Okay Harry," said Jed after some time, stretching his back before standing up, "I'll leave that agenda with you. I'm going to turn in. Students arriving tomorrow! We've got to mentally prepare ourselves!"

"Yeah," replied Harry distractedly, putting down his quill and rubbing his eyes.

Harry saw Jed out of the wall. As soon as he was gone, Harry heard an unmistakable "ahem," come from Dumbledore's portrait.

"Hello professor," said Harry lazily, dropping some paperwork on the coffee table and determinedly ignoring the confusing punch to his gut which he now associated with Dumbledore's presence.

"Good evening Harry," replied Dumbledore, "Are you ready for the students arriving?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Professor McGonagall informs me that your daughter will be starting this year?"

"Yes, she is."

Harry was suddenly reminded of all the worry he felt for Lily and Hugo and dropped heavily onto the sofa.

"Is something the matter, Harry?"

Harry hesitated. Should he confide in a painting?

"Well, I guess Dumbledore would've been the person to talk to anyway…"

The portrait cocked his head to the side, his brow wrinkling.

"Harry, did you just refer to me in the third person?"

"Er…" Harry swallowed; preparing himself for what he knew would be difficult to articulate. "Well… You're _not_ Dumbledore, are you? You're a copy. The… _real_ Dumbledore has… passed on."

The portrait was silent and still for a while. His eyes were a little downcast, Harry noticed.

"I'm sorry sir…"

"No not at all, m'boy. You are right, of course. I am an echo of the Dumbledore whom you knew." He paused. "Having said that, Harry, I would like to point out that having an echo of the once great Dumbledore is better than having no Dumbledore at all."

Harry laughed.

"So Harry, why not humour this echo and tell me what's troubling you?"

There were many things that were troubling him, Harry thought. But he settled on the biggest one to talk about.

"My daughter Lily and my nephew Hugo were given very unusual wands from Ollivander. He said that a… an Elve made them."

"Oh!" exclaimed Dumbledore, making Harry jump.

"S… Sir?"

"My apologies Harry; I was… surprised. I'm surprised you haven't told Minerva…"

"Oh, she has enough to deal with, sir…"

"She wouldn't mind. She would allow you to confide with her no matter how trivial the subject. But this is far from trivial, Harry. I have seen a few Elves in my time, and each was for a very good reason. Not many understand them as I do."

Harry was instantly attentive.

"Then what have I been doing looking in the school library? Sir, would you mind if I asked you some questions about them?"

Dumbledore paused a minute.

"Ask away, Harry."

"Have you ever seen a turquoise Elve with dark blue hair?"

Again, Dumbledore paused. Harry became unnerved by the expression on the man's face which he couldn't read.

"Yes, I have."

Harry's heart leapt as he stammered in his urgency.

"What power does it…? Y'know…"

"Time."

"Time?"

"Yes, that Elve's power lies in the movement of time."

Harry immediately felt a headache coming on.

"But," he stammered, resting his head in his hands, "But what would a time Elve want with Lily and Hugo?"

"That, I cannot say," Said Dumbledore evenly, "Perhaps time will tell; if you'll pardon the pun."

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"My cousin's daughter is starting this year too."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"A magical Dursley?"

"Yes, I was in shock for a while."

"Indeed."

Dumbledore scanned Harry's quarters, humming quietly to himself. His eyes picked up on the paperwork strewn all around the room, landing eventually on the papers on the coffee table.

"You're working yourself hard, are you not?" He said.

Harry looked up and followed his eyes to where he was looking.

"No," Harry chuckled, "Jed is working me hard."

"From what I overheard, you're writing something. A book?"

"Er… yeah," said Harry hesitantly. He wasn't sure he wanted Dumbledore to know about the book. He didn't know why exactly.

Harry looked down at the coffee table and cringed. The topmost sheet of parchment had, in big bold letters Dumbledore's name as its title. It was the list of interactions he had had with Dumbledore. There were also details included about how each incident had made him feel.

Oh, god.

Now Harry knew why he didn't want Dumbledore to know about it.

_Please don't ask what it says_,thought Harry desperately.

"Is that sheet of paper about me, Harry?"

_Crap_.

"Er… yeah," said Harry lamely, "It's just… How you…"

How he… What? Acted like God playing a game of chess to win the war? Steered people like Harry and Snape as if they were puppets to kill Voldemort?

Harry swallowed.

"How you… Helped us win the war."

"Ah."

Dumbledore was looking at Harry with the same familiar shrewdness Harry remembered from his teen years.

"Is there something wrong, Harry?"

"No," Harry replied, much too fast.

"Harry…"

Harry's face grew hard. He looked up at the portrait, ready to firmly but politely tell him to drop it.

But the look on the older man's face made him stop. It wasn't a solicitous or concerned expression as Harry had expected. His usually kind and twinkling eyes were still, shining and hard. It was as if Dumbledore was commanding rather than suggesting Harry to tell him what he wanted to know. It caused a shiver to run up his spine.

"Fine," said Harry, masking his uneasiness with sudden anger, he snatched the offending sheet of parchment from the table.

Harry felt his face grow hot, but he kept going – he was too angry to care. As the heat from his face travelled down his neck and right down to his toes, he began to read.

"'This is in response to the rumours and circulation which had been greatly influenced by the lies of one Rita Skeeter. The conclusion I have come to about the regard Albus Dumbledore had for me, Harry Potter, is that it was purely based on my relationship with Tom Riddle. We talked about nothing that wasn't related to Voldemort or his being defeated…'"

He was about to continue, but a noise from the painting which sounded half way between a gasp and a groan distracted him, but he didn't look at the portrait. He kept his eyes determinedly fixed on the sheet of parchment.

"Harry… That's not…"

"Don't tell me it's not true." said Harry quietly. He lowered the parchment, but still didn't look up at the picture.

"You spoke to me twice in my first year. First, it was about the Mirror of Erised. It was like you knew that I would end up chasing after Quirrell. The other time was after I met Voldemort for the first time. In my second year, you spoke to me on the pretence of addressing the suspicions about me being the heir of Slytherin. You already knew that it wasn't me, but you had an idea about why I could speak Parseltongue, and you wanted to talk to me about it, because it had something to do with my connection to Voldemort. You spoke to me after I went after Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets. You took particular interest in the Riddle's Diary…"

"Harry… Don't… Don't make the mistake of thinking that I only cared about you because you were destined to defeat Voldemort."

"Would you have taken any interest in me at all if, say, Voldemort had gone after Neville instead of me?"

This time, Harry did look up at the painting to see his reaction.

Dumbledore was hesitating.

"Harry, I… I don't know what to say. I can't."

Harry felt a primal sense of satisfaction at seeing his former headmaster lost for words. He stood up, dropping the parchment on the coffee table.

"That's because you know I'm right, and you don't want to admit it."

And with that, Harry crossed to his bedroom.

By the light of the lit fire, the portrait of Dumbledore was able to scrutinise the parchment which had landed on the table in the perfect position for him to read himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Yes, I told you to trust me about that little Hugo and Lily thing, didn't I? I told you it was necessary, didn't I? Heehee. **

**I'm not sure how accurate this emotional journey monologue is for a 38 year old. It's probably too teenagery, being only 19 myself. I hope it's a good attempt. :-)**

**This turned out to be a long chapter, so I hope you all feel a bit warmer to me after this. :-)**

**I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters, items, locations, etc, etc.**

_He was lying on a comfy bed. He opened his eyes, and he could see a blurry high-ceilinged room. There was something round and golden above him. The Snitch? He tried to catch it, but his arms were too heavy to move._

_He closed his eyes and opened them again. He was sitting at a desk in a circular room. The headmaster's office?_

"_Harry…" spoke a voice from behind the desk. Harry looked up. It was Dumbledore's portrait._

"_He cared about you a great deal." McGonagall's Scottish lilt reverberated in his head._

_He blinked, and he was in a forest, covered in snow. _

_Hermione, looking 21 years younger, was sat in front of a small tent._

"_Dumbledore loved you," she said quietly. Her expression looked almost angry._

"_I know he did."_

_He closed his eyes again. He was on top of what he recognised as the astronomy tower. _

_He couldn't move._

_The door burst open._

_No._

"Severus, please."

_No._

"Avada Kedavra."

_NO!_

_Dumbledore was raised in the air, his arms spread-eagled. His eyes were unmistakably blue, but something else in them disappeared before he fell from the high tower and out of sight._

"NOOOO!"

Harry sat bolt upright. He was in his bed and drenched in cold sweat. His eyes were wet. He'd been crying.

He felt his way through the semi-darkness to the en-suite bathroom and splashed his face with water from the basin.

Feeling slightly better, he dabbed his face dry with a towel and went back to the bedside table to retrieve his glasses.

He moved to the living room and immediately looked at the painting above the fireplace. It was empty.

Harry sighed with relief. He couldn't even explain to himself why he had a dream about his old headmaster or why it had affected him this much. He didn't want to be interrogated by somebody else, least of all _him._

He crossed to the window and opened it wide. The sky was beginning to lighten. Thick fog covered the grounds, making it impossible to see anything.

Harry eyed the broomstick he had propped behind his desk in a corner of the large bookcase. He hadn't flown in ages.

"Harry…" said Dumbledore's voice behind him.

Harry closed his eyes in despair as an invisible fist clenched over his heart at the sound of the man's voice.

"Harry, I'm just making sure you're alright…"

"I'm fine."

"Harry, I thought I heard you calling me?"

The dream. _Oh, no. _He must have been talking in his sleep.

"Harry?"

"I'm fine," said Harry firmly. His face was growing unbearably hot.

"Harry…"

"Just leave me alone!" Harry yelled, grabbing his broomstick and jumping right out of the window.

Harry left trails through the fog as he shot through it. The cool moisture served to calm Harry's confusing mood, for which Harry was grateful.

He blast through the grounds in zigzags, sending the low hanging cloud flying in all directions.

After half an hour or so, he slowed down, and began to cruise high above the fog, which had now been broken up so much by Harry that it was barely there.

He flew lazily in a circle over the grounds; over the forest, over Hagrid's hut, over the front gate, over the Quidditch pitch and over the lake.

Harry found his eyes drawn to the island where he knew Dumbledore was buried.

A spark of anger, frustration, confusion and sadness ripped through Harry's chest, and, with stinging eyes and a tight heart, he shot for the small spit of land in the middle of the lake.

The last time he was here, it was to return the Elder Wand to this grave. Harry remembered with a shudder the disturbing grey skin and the lifeless, cold flesh of his former headmaster and mentor.

Now that he was standing once again in front of the white tomb, he felt an odd urge to take his wand and blast it apart.

"You see, Potter?" said Harry to himself through gritted teeth, "He's in there. He's dead. He's gone."

The wind picked up. The trees rustled and the fog moved around his feet.

"Why is it," he said, this time to the tomb – to Dumbledore, "Why do you keep creeping into my thoughts? Why do you have portraits that I can talk to? Why have you left so many things behind which remind me of you? Why does it hurt so much? Why do I _want _it to hurt? Why do I _care_?"

He let out an almighty roar and took out his wand. He channelled every bit of whatever he was feeling into his wand.

He pointed it at the tomb.

He stopped.

With a groan of frustrated despair, he pointed his wand instead at the sky and let go of the alien power building up in it. The result was a force much like a gunshot which caused Harry to fall backwards. There was a colossal bang and crack which seemed to reach the mountains and back multiple times.

Harry convulsed with sudden sobs. He stood up.

"Why?" he cried, "Why is it, that even though I saw you die – and you've been dead for 22 years– why do I feel like I'm not finished with you?"

He put his face in his hands and rubbed the water from underneath his glasses.

He threw his head back and sniffed.

"What the hell is this?"

He took a deep breath.

He was done. He had vented, he was feeling sufficiently numb, except for a small headache near his left temple. But now he could get on with the rest of his day.

He turned and picked up his wand from the ground where he had dropped it and put it back in its holster.

He then picked up his broomstick and flew back to the castle and breakfast.

Minerva McGonagall was startled by the sound of a loud bang, similar to that of a gunshot.

She got up from her desk and crossed to the window behind her, though she wasn't sure she'd see anything. The sound had been so loud she didn't know what direction it had come from.

What she saw was Harry lying on the ground in front of Dumbledore's tomb. He was quite far away, so McGonagall had to peer at him to make sure he was unhurt.

She watched as he got up and proceeded to shout at the tomb.

Minerva gasped and withdrew herself from the window.

"Albus," she whispered urgently, bustling back to her desk and addressing the portrait behind it.

"Was it him?" asked the portrait pointedly.

"Yes, I think so," she replied.

"It won't be long now." said Dumbledore.

"Yes," she said, looking nervous. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"Yes, I need to speak to him. But it needs to be here, not in his quarters."

"Why..?"

"Minerva." said Dumbledore softly but firmly.

"Right, of course. I'm sorry."

Dumbledore inclined his head.

Later that day, as the sun was beginning to set, Harry was in his office going over some notes for the book.

He hadn't returned to his quarters at all that day. He didn't want to speak to the portrait. It wasn't, after all, the real Dumbledore. It wouldn't do to pursue a friendship with an echo of the real thing.

_It's the Mirror of Erised all over again_,Harry found himself thinking.

Raising his eyebrow at the implications of that thought, Harry looked at his watch. The Hogwarts Express will have just arrived.

With a sigh, he made his way down to the Great Hall.

Upon arriving, he found the staff table to be more occupied than he had previously seen it over the holidays, it being their first compulsory meal.

"Oh, Harry!" called Professor McGonagall, waving him over.

"Yes, Professor?" said Harry once he had reached the table.

"Are you ready for this?" she said with a gleam in her eye.

"Will I ever be?" he replied with a smirk.

McGonagall laughed.

"When I introduce you as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and Deputy Headmaster…" she paused, as if voicing it made it seem more ridiculous, which Harry thought it did.

"…You just stand and acknowledge the applause."

"If there is any." said Harry.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

"Really? You think there is a possibility they won't?"

"Er…" said Harry, suddenly realising his silly assumption, "You never know..."

McGonagall rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, it's your job to lead the first year students into the hall from the entrance to the boathouse…"

Harry frowned. He hadn't realised this, but he hadn't been anywhere near the boathouse ever since he arrived during his first year. He had cleanly forgotten where the entrance to it was.

"If you go down the corridor where the kitchens are," said the headmistress, as if she had read his mind, "Turn right before you get to the stacks of barrels. At the end of that corridor there will be a giant door. Don't open it until Hagrid has knocked _three times_ on the door, or you'll get an awful shock."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask anymore questions. Clearly there was some kind of magic involved to do with the security of the castle. He didn't need to know any more about it.

"I trust you remember what else is expected of you from my example in your first year?"

With a nod, Harry followed McGonagall's directions to the boathouse.

The door in question looked much like the front doors of the castle, only much more weather-beaten and dusty.

Harry waited.

**A/N: OMG I just saw J.K Rowling on the Olympic Opening Ceremony. *squeeeeee* meeting her is on my bucket list. XD**

He began to pace in front of the door before leaning heavily against the wall, propping a leg up behind him and folding his arms.

_Bang._

Harry almost toppled over in fright at the sudden noise.

_Bang._

It was Hagrid knocking on the door. He was reminded of his first meeting, and wondered if he'd be able to knock this door down too.

_Bang._

Three knocks. Harry walked forward and pulled the doors open. They were surprisingly light.

Looking back at him on the other side of the doors were a gaggle of first years lead by Hagrid, who obscured most of them from Harry's view.

"Thank You Hagrid," said Harry dutifully, stepping aside to let him pass.

Hagrid smiled at him, and Harry noticed fleetingly that his eyes were rather wet as he passed.

Turning back to the new students, he smiled down at them all. Some of them were craning their necks to get a good look at him, others looked frightened. He spotted Hugo, Lily and Petunia, who were standing close together.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Harry cheerfully, "Follow me."

He led them out of the corridor, across the entrance hall and to the chamber off the side as McGonagall had done so many years before. As soon as they all filed inside, he addressed them again.

"In a few moments, I will escort you into the Great Hall to be sorted into your houses. The houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. The house you belong to will determine which common room you will use and the table at which you will take your meals. It will also most likely determine the Quidditch team you choose to support."

Harry paused, and found himself determined to make this point early in these children's magical education.

"Regardless of what you might think you know about these houses, do not judge yourself or others according to which you are sorted into. There is such a thing as a cunning Hufflepuff. There is such a thing as a nurturing Slytherin. There is such a thing as a brave Ravenclaw."

He smirked.

"There is also – heaven forbid – such a thing as a smart Gryffindor."

A few of the students giggled.

"For those of you who are unaware," he continued, addressing the more frightened looking students, "In order to be sorted, you place the sorting hat on your head and it will tell you what house you belong to. You will then sit down at the appropriate house table."

"Now," said Harry, straightening up suddenly, "I am going to check and make sure that everyone is where they should be. In the meantime, you can talk or smarten yourselves up. I'll be right back."

He exited the chamber and turned towards the Great Hall. There were still a few students wandering in.

"Hurry up!" he chastised, "This is the first time I've known the first years to be ready before everyone else!"

"Dad!"

Harry started and turned to see Albus running towards him.

"Albus…" said Harry warningly.

"Oh!" he said, clapping his hands to his mouth, "Sorry, I mean Professor."

"What caused the hold up?" asked Harry.

"James. Somebody said something bad about you and mum and he jinxed about five people with jelly-legs."

"Albus, you bloody snitch!"

James came through the door followed by a group of grumbling fellow third years who were holding onto each other. A few of them gave an involuntary twitch, causing the group to be unsteady.

Harry resisted the urge to laugh.

"Dad, we've already settled it, there's no need to…"

"Potter!" interrupted Harry, wincing at the impersonal use of his son's name, "I will see you in my office tomorrow at morning break."

James stared.

"Understood?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry?" said Harry pointedly.

"Yes… Sir."

Harry frowned at the sarcastic tone.

"Get into the hall, all of you."

He watched with distain when James shoved Albus as he passed him on his way into the hall.

Harry crossed to the main oak doors and made sure that there were no more students coming before closing them. He then turned back to the Great Hall to catch McGonagall's eye.

When he did, she nodded at him.

He turned back to the chamber and let the first years out.

He moved them in front of the double doors into the hall and urged them to get into a line.

"Are you all ready?" he asked them with a smile.

"Are you?" said Lily from the back of the line. Hugo nudged her in the elbow, stifling a laugh.

Harry laughed heartily as he turned and opened the doors.

"Am I indeed?" he said to himself as he led the students through the double doors and to the head table.

Harry picked up the roll of parchment. He felt a stab of nostalgia as he remembered McGonagall doing the same thing.

With a half smile, he began to read from the roll.

"Austin, Mark."

A boy with shoulder length sandy hair walked forward calmly and put on the hat.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The Hufflepuff table clapped Mark Austin as he sat down, nodding at everyone who acknowledged him with a smile.

"Bainbridge, Sandra."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Bell, Harriet."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Carter, Anne."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Churchwell, Maya."

"RAVENCLAW!"

On and on this continued. 'Doone, Cyril" became the first Slytherin of the year, then it was Petunia's turn.

She looked quite nervous as she walked clumsily towards the head table. She looked uncertainly towards Harry, who gave her an encouraging smile. She put on the hat with some reluctance.

It was quite a long pause.

A few people coughed and others started to whisper.

"SLYTHERIN!" everyone jumped, including Harry, who immediately began pondering this outcome with some confusion. Petunia was, after all, muggleborn.

"_Harry_!" whispered Parvati urgently from the head table, pulling him out of his daze.

He cleared his throat and called "Eddlebury, Ryan," who also became a Slytherin.

"Finch – Fletchley, Harry." Harry raised an eyebrow at the name, but said no more as the boy in question was sorted into Hufflepuff.

"Finnegan, Harry." Harry's other eyebrow raised.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry conveniently zoned out as he read the rest of the names up until he read the name of his daughter.

"Potter, Lily."

The mention of her name caused a tirade of whispering across the hall.

Completely oblivious of this, Lily walked up excitedly and pulled the hat onto her head with enthusiasm.

It took longer than Petunia by a long shot. Harry began to lose feeling in his feet from standing too long.

"Is it broken?" Harry heard Mark Austin say.

A pause, then…

"SLYTHERIN!"

"_WHAT?" _screamed the entire Great Hall in unison.

There was a loaded pause as Lily stood slowly from the stool and put the hat back. She avoided her father's gaze as she silently took her seat at the Slytherin table next to a very confused looking Petunia.

Harry shook himself and continued.

It was an age before "Weasley, Hugo" was called near the end.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Oh, for goodness sake," breathed Harry. No doubt he was the first Weasley in a long time, if at all, to not be a Gryffindor.

Harry looked over at the Gryffindor table to see his many relatives looking shell-shocked.

Allan West became a Ravenclaw and Patrick Yalemead became a Hufflepuff, bringing the sorting to an end.

Filch took away the hat, stool and parchment and Harry sat next to the empty seat on the Headmistress' left and on Jedediah Hallow's right.

McGonagall stood.

"Let the feast begin."

As the food appeared on the plates around the hall, she sat back down and immediately engaged Harry in conversation.

"I've never heard of a muggleborn being sorted into Slytherin. We have to keep an eye out. She may be in danger of being bullied within her own house."

"I was just thinking that," said Harry, eyeing the Slytherin table. Lily was talking to Petunia with a slightly distressed look on her face. Harry assumed she was explaining the situation to her.

"Lily will look after her," He said, spooning some potatoes onto his plate. "Lily looks after family."

"That's another thing," McGonagall continued, "Your daughter sorted into Slytherin and a Weasley sorted into Hufflepuff! The world's going mad!"

"I think that ship has sailed," said Harry with a chuckle, "The world has always been mad; especially the magical world."

"I find this rather amusing," said Jed on Harry's right, "It's a mystery to me how a muggleborn got into Slytherin, but it strikes me as a sign that she has something in her which Salazar himself would have valued above purity of blood."

"What did he value over purity of blood?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. Until now, I didn't think there was anything he valued more. But that's the only explanation I can come up with."

It gave Harry something to think about as he munched on chicken legs, steamed vegetables, chips, Shepherd's Pie and generous helpings of treacle tart when dessert was served.

Even when the food was cleared away and McGonagall was making the usual welcoming speech, Harry's mind was elsewhere. The biggest blow to him was obviously the fact that he couldn't watch over Lily and Hugo as closely as he would have liked, since he was not their head of house.

Harry started when McGonagall said his name and Jed nudged him to stand.

The whole hall was a mass of cheering and applause.

"And now it's time for bed," McGonagall said when the applause eventually died down, "Prefects please escort the new first years. Everyone else can find their own way."

Harry gratefully stood up. He watched Lily, Petunia and Hugo leave with their respective houses with anxious expressions.

He saw several faces looking up at him from around the Gryffindor table and he confirmed them all to be his family. He shook his head meaningfully, and they all shuffled out of the hall to Gryffindor Tower.

**A/N: I was going to go into more detail about the family members who were there, but I left my notes at my term-time address. No matter; they're not particularly important at this point. **

**I hope you enjoyed. Tell me what you think. We're getting close to the good bit. I'm excited! XD**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Yes, I took the extract down. I'm sorry I took down the best part of the story, but fear not! It's right here, and it's been improved!**

**I give you the first climax of this epic tale, ladies and gentlemen. Prepare to have your hearts stolen and minds blown. Tissues at the ready.**

**Seriously though, it's here, I've edited it, and I hope you enjoy. :-)**

**By the way: to those of you who actually read my author's notes and those who leave me regular and wonderful reviews: I LOVE YOU! **

**I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own Hogwarts. I would love to own Hogwarts; t'would be a wonderful real estate opportunity.**

Harry's dreams were filled with the haunting vision of Albus Dumbledore's last moments before falling off the Astronomy tower, and his own sense of helplessness and shock as it happened.

When he woke up, Harry was shaking and desperately fighting the need to curl up and cry.

When he had recovered, he was suddenly hit with a need to read Dumbledore's biography. He crashed into the living room and threw aside notes everywhere looking for the infernal book.

Eventually, he found it hidden underneath the coffee table, and took it with him back to his bedroom. It was still quite dark, so he lit his bedside lamp to read by. He paid special attention to the chapters about Grindlewald and also about himself.

Hours passed.

Eventually, the sun caught itself in Harry's eyes, bringing him crashing firmly to the present.

He almost forgot that he was expected to take breakfast in the Great Hall.

He was glad. It meant that he didn't have to talk to that portrait. Harry doubted he could bring himself to talk to that portrait ever again.

He threw the book aside, his mind reeling with confusion and other unidentifiable emotions.

He got up and opened his backpack.

"_Accio _content potion."

Downing the tiny vial of pale yellow potion, a feeling of comfort and mild happiness swept over him, stilling any feelings of confusion. He knew the potion would last a couple of hours. He hadn't needed to take it since James had been born. Before then, the potion had been necessary to keep his volatile temper in check.

He dressed in some smart work robes and walked quickly out of his quarters, keeping his eyes away from the direction of the fireplace.

He continued down the long corridor to the Grand Staircase and to the Entrance Hall.

Harry found the hall in question to be full of students, who whispered and pointed in his direction.

Harry took a breath and began to descend the marble staircase, pretending that he hadn't noticed.

"P-professor Potter?"

A very small blonde first year girl was at the foot of the stairs. Two other girls were standing behind her, giggling awkwardly. The girl who addressed Harry shuffled her feet awkwardly.

"M-may…" Her voice came out in a squeak, which seemed to come as surprise to her.

She cleared her throat and tried again.

"May I have your autograph?"

Harry sighed slowly as he really looked at the girl. What was the girl's name? He had been so distracted when he had read them out yesterday; he barely remembered any of them.

It began with a "C"…

Ch…

Churchwell.

Churchwell, Maya. Ravenclaw.

"Churchwell," he said kindly, bending down so that he was at her level, causing her to blush wildly and the two other girls to giggle more.

"If I gave you one, then everyone will want one. Ask me again when you can think of a way to overcome that problem."

Harry smiled as the small Ravenclaw's eyes shone at the challenge.

With that, Harry made his way into the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Harry," said McGonagall when he had taken his seat. "I need you in my office at your earliest convenience."

"Er…" he said, momentarily startled by the suddenness of this request.

"My earliest convenience would be after second period, Minerva."

"Yes, that will do," she said with a sniff, before tending to her porridge.

Grabbing himself some bacon, eggs, toast and a cup of coffee, Harry was contented to eat while surveying the students.

He liked it up here at the head table for that reason. He pretended not to notice the fact that a lot of them were talking about him. They would get used to him being around; it was only a matter of time.

Ten minutes later, Harry walked into his classroom. He had banished all of the desks and instead lined benches in stages on either side of the room. His lessons were going to be mostly practical. After all, when it comes to DADA, if you can do the practical stuff, the theory is just common sense.

The bell rang, and Harry spelled open the door. His fourth year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw class filed in looking excited or else anxious.

"Take a seat," said Harry evenly, indicating the benches on either side of the room.

Harry took the register, paying special attention to their names so that he had a better chance of remembering them.

"Today," he continued, putting down the register on his table at the front of the room, "We're going to see how much you know about defending yourselves. So we'll start today with a little duel."

Immediately the room buzzed with excitement.

"Can anyone tell me some spells which can be used in a friendly duel?"

A number of hands went in the air.

"Yes?" Harry indicated to a Ravenclaw girl with long straw coloured hair.

"Inpedimenta?"

"Yes, very good. Can you tell me the advantages and disadvantages of that particular spell?"

"Well…" she said awkwardly, "What actually happens is unpredictable, especially if it's not a human you are duelling. But whatever happens, it will cause some kind of…" she struggled with herself, clearly trying to find the word, "Well, impediment. To your opponent. Hence the name." she finished with a slight giggle.

"Yes, very good. Thank you. Any more?"

"Expelliarmus." grunted a Hufflepuff boy.

"Yes, _excellent_. Expelliarmus is a wonderful spell. It has saved many lives, including mine, on several occasions. Do not underestimate it. Do not let others scoff at it."

"But," piped up a Ravenclaw girl, "It's only a disarm spell… If someone was casting a killing curse, then Expelliarmus would be useless, wouldn't it?"

"Not at all," said Harry. "It isn't the incantation that decides the power of a spell. It's the intention behind it. A killing curse can be rendered useless if the intention behind it is unjust or trivial," he paused, then let out a bark of laughter, "Although, that particular example is complicated to explain properly."

"Is that why the killing curse didn't work on you?" said the girl, looking a little bold.

Harry smiled at the Ravenclaw's curiosity.

"I survived the killing curse because my mother died to protect me. Her intention to save someone she loves outweighed Tom Riddle's intention to make himself immortal."

There was a loaded pause.

"This can be explained better with simpler, fun spells. Killing somebody is a whole other ball game."

The class laughed.

"Tell me – and don't worry, you won't get in trouble – what spell is used most at the moment? You know, for a laugh?"

"Rictusempra," they all chanted immediately.

"Ah, yes," said Harry with a smile, "What better way to have a giggle than to make somebody tickle?"

He pointed at two boys and gestured for them to take the floor.

"Now, I want you to cast rictusempra at the same time. Make sure you cast it simultaneously."

"_Rictusempra_!"

The two spells collided with each other and disappeared.

"Excellent. Here, we can see that both spells have the same amount of power because the intention behind them is the same. The casters are both simply doing as I am telling them to."

He paced between them for a while before barking,

"Stebbins! If you do not hit him this time, I will deduct house points. Do it again, simultaneously."

"Rictusempra!"

This time, Stebbins' spell pierced the other and hit the other boy in the shoulder, making him collapse in a fit of giggles.

"_Finite_," said Harry, causing the giggles to stop.

"Can anyone explain why Thorn's spell didn't work?"

The girl with the straw coloured hair raised her hand

"Is it because his intention was stronger? He didn't want to lose house points."

"Yes, exactly. Thank you boys," he gestured for the boys to go back to their seats.

"The most valuable lesson to learn is that the person with the stronger incentive will win." Harry laughed. "That doesn't just apply to duels."

The class laughed again.

Now, does anybody else want to have a go?"

At 11 o'clock, Harry was walking towards the Headmistress' office as he had promised. He couldn't explain the sense of unease in him until he spoke the password into her office.

"Dumbledore."

He hoped that McGonagall had so much business to discuss with him that Dumbledore's portrait wouldn't attempt to talk to him.

He knocked on the door, but when he didn't receive an answer, he let himself in.

Harry sat contentedly on his usual chair in front of the Headmistress' desk. He willed himself not to look at Dumbledore's portrait, but unable to control the temptation, found his eyes flickering towards it before they finally locked onto the painting.

It was empty.

Looking around, he found that the other portraits were also empty, sporting only vacant chairs.

Looking back at Dumbledore's empty canvas, he let out a loaded sigh.

He didn't know whether it was of relief or of disappointment.

"Dwelling on the past didn't do anybody any good," said Harry out loud, and found the beginnings of a tantrum manifest within himself in response to his own lecture.

_Crap_.

He felt feelings of confusion and those cursed unidentifiable emotions come flooding back. His potion had just worn out.

"Harry?"

He jumped violently and clutched the desk to keep him from parting with the chair.

"Dumble- Professor- you gave me a fright."

The portrait gave a small chuckle.

"Clearly."

Harry shot him a small glare that would have been missed by anybody else.

"I'm sorry my dear boy, I should know better than to address a man so deeply in thought."

Harry made a noise halfway between derision and concurrence, but didn't say anything more, determined once more to avoid the portrait's gaze.

"I hear that you're writing an autobiography?"

Harry started.

"It's NOT an autobiography! It's my point of view about how Voldemort was defeated! I've no interest in writing about myself. The wizarding world needs this information. It's… sort of historical."

There was a pause. Then Dumbledore chuckled again – that _bloody_ chuckle, Harry thought.

"Yes, I thought so."

Harry hesitated, then decided he should forego his morals – namely the one where he shouldn't talk to or get attached to dead people - just a little as he realised that asking the opinion of the portrait regarding his book was almost as good as asking the man himself.

"Sir- I wonder if you think I should go through with it?"

"Why ever not?"

"The Horcruxes… Giving details about them… We could have a repeat of the same if somebody were to imitate Voldemort."

"Ah yes, that is true. However, you'd be also giving details of how to destroy the Horcruxes too, and, I hope that you will also stress what I told you about the strength of a soul that is whole and untarnished?"

"Of course! All that y- all that I was taught- I'm putting into the book. So that others can learn what I did. That's why I wanted to write it. I'm the only one I can trust to tell the story exactly as it was. Imagine if I'd left it to Skeeter…"

Harry shuddered whilst remembering fleetingly about what she had written about Dumbledore and himself. Both books had contained a whole chapter devoted entirely to Harry and Dumbledore's relationship, which had been painted in the most inappropriate way Skeeter could muster.

"Ah, of course. I've heard of the biography she'd written about me. I haven't read it myself – my position as an oil painting makes it hard to turn pages, and I shan't ask it of anyone to read me all 800 pages of a life I've already lived once."

"I strongly recommend that you don't read it," said Harry quickly, "It's caused me a lot of…"

He tried to hold back the heat that was creeping up his cheeks, but Dumbledore seemed to notice, and his expression became solicitous as he considered him.

"A lot of trouble."

"How so, Harry?"

Harry, embarrassed by his embarrassment, tried to mask his discomfort by glaring reproachfully at the man, then determinedly avoiding his eyes once again.

"It doesn't matter."

"Clearly it does Harry. I'm not usually one to press somebody about an issue that causes them discomfort, but as it concerns me…"

"It doesn't concern _you_!" shouted Harry, rising to his feet.

"The man it involves is laid to rest over there by the lake!" He pointed out of the window.

The eyes of the portrait to which Harry was shouting had become rather watery, and Harry couldn't look at him anymore. He turned away.

"Harry, I… I have the same memories, aspirations, and quirks – everything – as Albus Dumbledore. I have the same feelings and personal attachments to the people he knew in life. You rejecting my council has the same effect that it would have had on the – shall we say 'real' – Albus Dumbledore. We are essentially the same person in all but form. Please confide in me Harry."

Harry was shocked to hear the man's voice crack into sobs. Dumbledore never sobbed. Turning, he saw the man's head in his hand, his finger and thumb covering his eyes in a feeble attempt to stem the flow of tears.

Harry made a motion as if to comfort him, but stopped himself. How do you comfort a portrait? He sighed.

"I don't think I'd even be able to confide this to him if he were alive."

Dumbledore gave him a questioning look through his watery eyes.

"It's a delicate matter, and… coming from me… prying into his… it'd be disrespectful…"

Dumbledore made a movement as if trying to get closer to Harry.

"Harry, you may ask me anything about my life, no matter how personal or impertinent it may seem to you."

Harry looked up, considering the man for a second. He let out a breath.

"Were you in love with Gellert Grindlewald?"

Dumbledore's eyes were wide, and his mouth was slightly open – a ghost of the shock he was no doubt feeling. And, Harry noticed with a stab of nervousness, that his eyes had lost that characteristic twinkle.

"I… yes. No. That is to say… I thought I was."

Harry wasn't sure if he was more surprised about his actually answering the question, or that he'd caused his old headmaster to stammer.

"I must ask though Harry," said Dumbledore, seemingly with extra effort to keep his voice even, "Why this has caused you distress?"

"It wasn't that exactly," Harry began quietly, willing his face to remain a normal colour, "It's… a number of things really… but it could be nothing. It's – for goodness sake! It's stupid, really!"

He turned to Dumbledore. "You're dead." he said firmly. "Where is Minerva? She's taking her sweet time."

Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes, as if steeling himself.

"She is... Elsewhere. She won't be back until very late this evening."

Dumbledore's tone and expression were unreadable by Harry, who was looking incredulous.

"Wha- Why- Why did she tell me to come here?"

Dumbledore just looked at him.

"You…"

"Yes Harry. I asked Minerva to invite you here so that I could talk to you. You have been avoiding me."

"Avoiding you? What the f… YOU'RE DEAD! HOW DO YOU AVOID A DEAD MAN?"

Dumbledore continued as if Harry hadn't said anything.

"Fawkes wants you as his new master. But he can't truly reach you until you stop hating me."

"I don't…" Harry stopped. He felt many things towards Dumbledore. He wasn't entirely sure that hate wasn't one of those feelings.

"Harry… I'd be surprised if you didn't hate me."

Harry said nothing. He sat back down on the chair in front of the desk.

"Fawkes wants me as his master?"

"Yes. He picked you as his master a long time ago. He cannot bond with his master however, if that master is angry at his previous master. Fawkes avoids the anger which you have for me."

"Why does Fawkes want to bond with me?"

"He admires your love and your courage. Just as I always have."

Harry rolled his eyes.

Dumbledore chuckled.

"You never did understand just how extraordinary a person you are, Harry."

"Spare me."

Dumbledore laughed.

Not a chuckle. A laugh. Harry had never heard Dumbledore laugh like that.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, putting his hands together and forming a steeple with his fingers.

"Why are you angry with me?"

Harry was about to deny being in the slightest bit angry. But he caught himself when he realised that he was angry at his deceased mentor. But…

"I don't know! I… you… Maybe you can tell me! I've never been more confused in my life! Even after your little trail of breadcrumbs you left me before you died!"

"Don't try and change the subject, Harry."

His feet felt rooted to the floor. He felt stuck and no matter which direction he's choose to take – out of the door, towards Dumbledore, out of the window – they each felt like the wrong choice.

"There's something wrong with me." Said Harry quietly, all sense of dignity leaving him. He suddenly felt unusually placid.

"I…" He looked at Dumbledore, whose expression Harry could still not place.

"I don't know what to do with myself."

Dumbledore was silent for a minute before speaking.

"I think that now is the time to reveal some information to you that I've hoarded for your whole life. I was sworn to secrecy Harry, so please forgive me."

"Sworn… By who?"

Dumbledore's eyes had found their twinkle again.

"By you."

Harry stared.

"I was an intelligent man in life, Harry. But also, I was rather foolish. But my foolishness had also allowed me to reap certain benefits – a feat which you often pointed out to me.

One of my foolish endeavours, which I shall never regret, was my tendency to experiment with time.

"Harry, open my portrait."

It was some time before Harry made any move towards the painting. He reached out a reluctant hand and touched the frame, before gingerly pulling it open. Inside the concealed niche behind it, he spotted what he recognised immediately as a time-turner. He took it and closed the portrait. He looked at the older man curiously. The man sighed softly, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Put it on."

Harry did so, once again yielding to the trust he felt for the man.

As soon as the weight of the hourglass settled against his chest, the time-turner began to spin.

**A/N: Thank You for reading, now review!**

***starts writing next chapter***


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: This one took a little longer because I wasn't entirely sure how much information needed to be put here. Or, indeed, how much I was _able_ to put here. I have made myself a victim of my own plot. How I wish I could reveal it all to you now! **

**On a separate note, to those of you with questions about my method of writing, read my notes – that's why I write them! **

**I do not own Harry Potter or any related shizzzz.**

…

The office turned into a massive blur as figures rushed in, out and around the room. He could hear them too, but it reached his ears as white noise. The light in the room changed from light to dark so rapidly that it made Harry's stomach turn.

Eventually, he had to close his eyes out of disorientation. The white noise seemed to surround him in a stifling cocoon of sound.

Suddenly, it stopped.

"Harry, thank goodness." said a voice in front of him.

He opened his eyes.

Walking towards him was Albus Dumbledore.

Harry made a strangled noise of shock and disbelief and backed hard into the wall behind him, which was empty of a portrait.

Dumbledore stopped, suddenly looking shocked himself.

He was exactly as Harry remembered him in his sixth year. Silver hair, silver beard, flamboyant robes… Purple today. There were slight differences between this man and the man's portrait, most prominent of which had to be the extra lines which criss-crossed his face and his sparkling blue eyes seemed corrupted with the weight of all the wrongs he was working to put right.

Harry's eyes darted to the man's right hand.

His blackened right hand.

Harry felt his chest tighten yet again, only this time, it was crippling. He felt his legs shake dangerously and his eyes felt like they would explode with the pressure behind them.

"Harry… When did you last see me?" asked Dumbledore softly.

The image of him falling over the edge of the Astronomy tower filled Harry's mind with renewed vividness.

Finally, the pressure in Harry's eyes manifested into tears, and he let out a long shaky breath. His legs could no longer hold him up, and, as if in slow motion, he began to fall.

Only he didn't quite reach the floor.

Dumbledore was suddenly beside him, and he caught Harry before he hit the ground, and they landed on the floor together.

With a strangled moan, Harry broke down. He rested his face on Dumbledore's chest and sobbed desperately.

He couldn't believe that Dumbledore was _here_, really physically here, and that he was being held by him.

The man's beard was tickling his cheek, and he smelled like old books.

Harry lost all sense of time, and he had no idea how long they stayed like that for.

Eventually, Harry's sobs began to subside, but he still held on tightly as if this man was the only thing that was holding him firmly to the earth.

He became particularly conscious of Dumbledore's breath on the back of his neck and of his fingers running through Harry's hair.

He felt himself shiver involuntarily, causing the fingers in his hair to stop. Harry knew his face was probably beet red, and he didn't want to pull back in case Dumbledore saw.

"Harry…"

Another shudder.

"Harry, its okay…"

Harry merely screwed his face up against the man's chest. He had no idea what he was doing.

Actually, come to think of it, he had no idea what was _going_ _on_ either.

"What the hell is going on?" Harry said suddenly, extracting himself and standing up quickly but with some difficulty.

He forced his face to regain its normal colour, using his anger and confusion to cover up his embarrassment.

"You just used the time-turner for the first time."

Harry threw up his hands. That part he knew.

"Uh-huh. Care to explain _why_ your portrait gave me a time-turner, and why the _hell_ it's taken me so far back in time?" Harry said this with some level of panic in his voice. He knew that even travelling a few hours back in time was a messy business. But travelling back more than _two decades_?

Dumbledore shut his eyes and stood up. Harry hadn't noticed how close he still was to the older man and instinctively backed into the wall again.

Dumbledore noticed this and chuckled quietly, albeit without the humour that Harry was used to. This unnerved him a bit.

The older man moved to the stairway which led to the balcony and motioned for Harry to follow him, which he did.

Harry suddenly realised that he had never been up here, and found it to be much more spacious than he had thought. There was a seating area with a coffee table and a large bookcase and four more doors leading who knows where.

Dumbledore sat on one of the armchairs around the coffee table and invited Harry to do the same.

Once Harry had sat down, he noticed that Dumbledore was looking very distressed and was reminded of when he had explained the prophecy to him for the first time.

"I have had this encounter rehearsed in my mind for a long time, Harry. Of course, I knew there must always be a first time for everything, but I didn't know…"

He stopped, closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Well, here is what you need to know, Harry. Or rather, here is what I am _allowed_ to tell you.

I have known you for a long time. We first met when I was a boy. You… I can't tell you how. But you were around for a very long time."

Dumbledore swallowed hard.

"When I felt like I needed you most… You had disappeared. I… I didn't know why you had disappeared. But I especially didn't know why I cared so much. But care I did and it was with a confused – to say the least – and a jumbled mixture of feelings that I welcomed your return some years later."

Harry's face was twisted in a heavy frown.

Dumbledore sighed.

"I can't tell you very much. I can't reveal too much about your future. You and I will uncover the answers that we both needed. You will understand as much as I do one day. It is…"

He closed his eyes, and Harry watched, transfixed, as he bit his lip and took a deep breath in through his nose. It was a most un-Dumbledore action. Harry closed his own eyes, as if he was seeing something he shouldn't.

"It is very important that I do not jeopardise my… our memories. Especially…"

Dumbledore stopped himself, and shook his head slowly, his eyes still closed. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Sir…"

"The best advice I can give you," said Dumbledore suddenly, "Is to ignore the confusion. Don't try to understand what's going on. Just let circumstance sweep you away and follow what _feels_ right."

Dumbledore indicated the time-turner around Harry's neck, and looked hard into Harry's eyes. There was that look again. He had now seen many expressions that Harry had never seen on Dumbledore's face as a boy…

"It is very important that you keep that on you at all times. Don't ever take it off."

Harry didn't even question this. He looked down at the tiny hourglass and poked it absentmindedly with a finger. He knew he would never take this thing off. Why?

He was silent for a while, turning his thoughts over and over in his mind.

He ignored his confusion, just as Dumbledore suggested. It was clear to him that he wasn't going to get any answers… yet… so he turned his attention to his feelings. The feelings he had that didn't make any sense. The feelings that felt alien under his own skin, as if they belonged to somebody else. What are they? Why did they come so suddenly? Why had he suddenly started to obsess about his dead headmaster?

"Harry..." said Dumbledore slowly, "Do you remember what I told you to be the most powerful kind of magic?"

"Er…" Harry came out of his train of thought, and wracked his brains for an answer to the man's question.

"Music?" he said, remembering his first year, and the school song.

Dumbledore chuckled.

"Yes Harry, quite right, but anything else?"

Suddenly it hit him.

"Oh."

Love.

Harry felt his face grow hot again. What was _wrong _with him?

"Absolutely nothing." said Dumbledore firmly.

"What?" asked Harry distractedly.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with you."

Harry chose to ignore this.

"Harry… The details are complicated. I still don't understand it all. I just know that I don't regret any of it. Neither will you."

Harry was listening, but this only served to make him even more annoyed, confused… and a little bit nervous.

"I am sorry, Harry. I have to be cryptic, or I'll get in trouble. I can't tell you too much about your future, just as you can't tell me too much about mine. Well, of course, no matter what you said to me now, it wouldn't make much difference. I know what's left for me anyway."

Harry looked up into the older man's lined face and felt the tightness in his chest spike again. He shook his head in an attempt to gain control of his emotions. He didn't fancy breaking down again.

"It is tomorrow that I intend to take you to retrieve the Horcrux."

Harry wrapped his arms around himself. It was like he had stepped back into the nightmare he had had last night. He suddenly felt ill.

Dumbledore stood and slowly moved to sit next to him on the sofa. Looking up, Harry saw tears in the older man's eyes.

"I hope I can see you again after this, when you know everything, Harry. I…"

He raised his good hand hesitantly and lightly touched Harry's face.

"I will need you."

The time-turner against Harry's chest began to spin, and Dumbledore felt the skin he was touching turn to air, and the cushions of the sofa sprang back having been alleviated of their precious burden.

…

**A/N: Apologies for the shortness of this chapter, but you must admit that it's still pretty juicy!**

**Please review! Tell me if you want more or less… Harbus? Albrry? Potore? Dumter? Hrm… I think I like "Harbus" best.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Oh my god, sooo much work to do this year! I have to create TWO creative writing portfolios – one for work and one for university applications. Is there anybody out there who has such a portfolio who can offer me some advice? Lol.**

**Chapter 12! Enjoy!**

**I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to the world in which he resides.**

Harry endured the white noise once again with less difficulty this time. His cheek still felt oddly warm where Dumbledore had touched it, and this was distracting him from the blur of shifting time.

The look that the man had given him was now burned into his memory. It scared him, but he felt… Harry touched his cheek absentmindedly… He felt like he wanted… No, he _needed_ to see it again.

Suddenly, the time-turner stopped, and so did the blurs.

Harry got up awkwardly from his seat and made his way down the small curved staircase. He looked up at the portrait of Dumbledore.

He was there, and he was staring at Harry with yet another unrecognisable expression.

Harry bit his lip, then moved towards it.

The sound of shuffling around him made him stop to look at the some of the other portraits, which were not empty. They were looking between Dumbledore and Harry awkwardly.

Harry felt his cheeks go pink.

He took a breath and looked down at the floor, allowing his thoughts to organise themselves.

He couldn't deal with this now. He had a job to do. He had students to teach.

"Oh, _crap_," he muttered, suddenly looking at his watch. James had probably been waiting in his office for ages, and he needed to stock up on more Content potions before his next few classes.

He bolted out of the round office, leaving the portrait of Dumbledore looking mightily satisfied.

…**.**

Harry bustled into his office, tucking a recently emptied Content bottle into his robes long with a few full ones, and found James slouched in one of the seats opposite his desk.

"Dad," he said when he noticed Harry's arrival, "Why did you have to be so cold last night? We _had_ it sorted out!"

"James," said Harry sternly, "You know that jinxing fellow students is against the school rules. Nobody is in exception to those rules."

"What about the guys who stuck their noses into our private life?"

Harry sighed and sat down heavily in his chair.

"Unfortunately, they weren't breaking any school rules, so I can't punish them."

James looked appalled.

"I can't show any favouritism towards any member of my family," Harry continued, "During school hours, I am your teacher. So I will treat you like a student. Is that clear?"

James sat back in his chair, his arms firmly crossed over his chest.

"Why did you get so… Depressing?" he said huffily.

"I'm not depressing!" said Harry, taken aback.

"Whatever."

Harry's heart sank. He knew that once James spoke that word, the conversation was, in his son's mind, over.

But James hadn't spoken to him this much since the separation between him and Ginny, and Harry wasn't going to give that up easily.

"What is bothering you, son?"

James looked at him as though he had grown six heads.

"You mean you don't _know_?"

Harry suddenly felt a little uncomfortable.

"How can I know what's wrong if you don't tell me?" he asked evenly.

James avoided his eyes, but took a deep breath and began to talk.

"You just up and left us! One day, we were perfectly fine, the next, you and Mum announced that you were separating and then you left us the next day! I mean…" he gestured wildly, opening and closing his mouth, "I mean, who does that?"

Harry leant forward in his seat, looking grave.

"James… Your mother and I are good friends. We love each other, but we're not _in _love with each other. Not anymore. When we stay in the vicinity of each other for too long, we are not nice people to be around. We separated as much for your sake as we did for our own."

James still didn't look convinced.

"I fight with Lily all the time, but you'd be pretty steamed if I went to the Ministry and declared her to be not my sister anymore."

"Oh James, you know that's not the same thing…" said Harry groggily, leaning back in his chair again.

"It is!"

"James… Lily is your sister. Ginny is my friend…" Harry trailed off, thinking through his argument carefully.

"I hope that when you get married, you'll never have to second guess the declaration you make. The thing is… Lily _is_ your sister. We both know the authenticity of that declaration. Ginny on the other hand… I don't love her enough to be a good husband to her. She deserves much more than I can offer her."

James shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"So James… Are you talking to me again?"

"Just one more thing…"

"Okay..."

"Are you… Are you gay?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up past his hairline.

"Wh-what made you ask me that?"

"Are you?"

Harry almost laughed, before he became aware of the hourglass that hung heavily against his chest. He felt his face begin to fall, before he caught himself and gave a sharp laugh and shook his head roughly.

"No. No! Seriously, where did you get an idea like that, James?"

James shook his head.

"Just something Lily said."

With that, the bell rang, and James stood up and left to take his seat in the classroom next door, leaving Harry sitting behind his desk looking rather gormless.

…**.**

When the bell rang after his final class of the day, Harry was glad to follow the rest of the students to the Great Hall for a much needed dinner.

He had been distracted nicely from the encounter he had had with Dumbledore – past and present - but was unkindly reminded of it when Jed engaged him in conversation about the book.

"I think we have all of the material we need now, Harry. We just need to string it all together, put in capital letters, full stops and we'll be done."

Harry swallowed his mouthful of steak pie.

"Why don't you interview the others who were involved? Maybe having different versions of the story would be of use to you too?"

Jed inclined his head.

"True, but this book is about _your_ story. I may write another more general take on the war some other time."

Harry nodded distractedly. As much as he wasn't entirely pleased by Jed's response, he was beyond caring.

He was thinking about the portrait in his quarters and how he couldn't decide whether he was dreading or looking forward to seeing it once he had finished his dinner.

"It must be put in chronological order. Think of it as your diary, Harry. Harry?"

Harry looked round. Jed was looking at his lap. He had missed his mouth a few times and now had steak and gravy all over his robes. With a "tut," Harry pulled out his wand and cleaned the mess.

"Tired?" said Jed, concerned.

"A bit," replied Harry.

"Maybe you should turn in?"

"Yeah…" Then the thought of Dumbledore invaded his mind and his heart seemed to leap and sink at the same time.

"No!" He said suddenly, making Jed look even more concerned.

"No… Er… Pudding…" Harry said feebly, finishing the remains of his pie and waiting on the arrival of some treacle tart.

…

Harry walked slowly towards his quarters; with each step he questioned whether or not to take another.

At some point on his journey between the Great Hall and the corridor which held the tapestry, Harry decided that he would not stop to talk to the portrait. He would go straight to bed. He was, after all, very tired indeed.

When he walked through the wall into his quarters, he found himself doing neither. He sat down at his desk and began to piece together his notes into chronological order for Jed.

The fire began to dim. The candles got gradually lower in their holders.

Harry gave a huge yawn after finishing the last sentence. How had he stayed alert for so long?

"You should be asleep," came a familiar voice from the fireplace.

Harry smirked slightly, ignoring the somersault of his lungs, and turned to the portrait.

It was blank.

"Wha…?"

Harry instead looked down into the fireplace and saw Jed's head suspended in the flames.

"I saw you at your desk when I took a stroll outside, and thought I'd come to tell you off," he said playfully.

Harry stretched in his chair and stood to lean on the back of the sofa.

"So you've taken up the role as my nanny now?"

"Yes. I'll be getting you a bib to catch any food which misses your mouth when you are distracted."

Harry smiled tiredly, then picked up his finished notes and held them up to Jed.

"I have these notes finished if you want them. If there's anything you think I've missed, just let me know."

Harry picked up the fire tongs and put the parchment in them and then in the flames, which swallowed the paper and Jed in a flash of green.

Harry sighed and looked up, he jumped back when he saw Dumbledore looking at him contentedly.

"Geeze Professor, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

The portrait chuckled, and Harry sat back heavily on the sofa.

"I suppose you want to talk about this morning?"

Dumbledore said nothing.

Of course, you can't talk about it can you? You can't, in case you say something which I shouldn't know yet."

"That's right Harry."

"Can you at least tell me how long I'll be gone for?"

"You won't ever be gone longer than a few seconds. You will jump back in time, but be returned to exactly the same time when you left. Only you will be in the same place you were at when the time turner sends you back forwards. I believe my past self made a point of demonstrating that to you. He took you upstairs, did he not?"

Harry nodded.

"Will I age?"

Dumbledore was silent again.

Harry looked up questioningly.

"To that Harry… You'll have to wait and see."

Harry sighed and surveyed Dumbledore closely. He couldn't help but see this man as a different person now. This man, who looked at Harry like… He didn't know. It was just different.

"What are you planning, Dumbledore?"

The professor looked thoroughly taken aback.

"Me? Oh no, Harry… _We_. _We_ have both had to do a lot of planning."

"I see."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes, being at the mercy of time means that we have had to develop the special talent of planning behind, as well as planning forward."

Harry felt his eyes droop. He couldn't be bothered getting up to go to his bed, so he decided to sleep right there on the sofa. He lifted his legs up and settled down, finding himself unusually comfortable under the gaze of his old mentor.

**A/N: Admittedly, the last paragraph mostly reflected my feelings at this point in time. **

**This story is going to be a bitch to get right, since I won't have the luxury of dealing in chronological order – kind of like our leading characters, lol. So, with that in mind, I apologise in advance for any inconsistencies!**

**Anyway, please review! Thank you for your support!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Oh gosh, I know. It's been literally years since my last update. I'm a terrible person. **

**My excuse: I've been through hell and back. Currently homeless and jobless. I'll spare you the details.**

**If you want more accurate and to-the-minute updates on how my fanfic writing is doing, then follow me on Twitter ( gracemaryfrench) and/or Tumblr (Grace The Ghostwriter).**

**Unfortunately I rarely look at my FFN inbox because of its general awkwardness, so this is the best way to contact me if you want to. (talking to me really helps my motivation, so thank you!)**

**...**

Lily was jerked awake by the sensation of falling. Her heart hammered uncomfortably against her ribcage. She looked to her left and saw her blonde cousin also sat up in her bed, breathing rapidly.

"You feel that too?" Lily whispered.

Petunia nodded.

...

"Its just a feeling. A curious observation. A hunch. You didn't have to mention it to him." Lily was squeezing ketchup onto her sausages for lunch while James interrogated her from his position leaning over on the other side of the Slytherin table.

"Yeah but... Saying that Dad might be gay is a little... Out there, don't you think?"

Lily rolled her eyes.

"What does it matter? It was a joke. Sort of. Whether or not its true, its not important."

James made an odd growling sound and stalked back to the Gryffindor table.

Lily hummed as she buttered a piece of bread and finished making her sausage sandwich, which she then eagerly devoured, causing Petunia beside her to wrinkle her nose a little, and proceed to eat her plate of sliced up fruit.

"What was that about?" she asked after swallowing some apple.

Lily shrugged.

"I joked about why dad would suddenly decide to separate with mum one day and I think he took it a bit seriously. James never took things seriously before. Its a shame."

Petunia noticed that despite still devouring her food in quite an unladylike fashion, Lily still managed to look pensive.

"This thing that's keeping us up at night though... It's getting annoying. Maybe we should go to the hospital wing?"

Petunia looked uncertain.

"You think we're sick?"

"No, I think something weirder is going on. But talking to a healer seems like the smart thing to do."

"If you say so. Maybe it'll go away on its own though."

Harry was idly watching the students from his position at the top table as he munched on some luncheon meat.

The hourglass felt heavy against his chest, and it did little to help him organise his thoughts and feelings.

He sighed and thought longingly of the vials of yellow content potion sitting in his desk drawer in his office.

"You sigh a lot."

Jed had suddenly appeared, taking his seat on Harry's left.

Harry shrugged.

"Feel like I have too much air in my mouth."

Jed raised an eyebrow and grinned at him, quietly chuckling. Harry couldn't help but laugh too.

Harry suddenly looked closer at Jed's face. There was something odd about...

"Jed - you look younger than I last saw you." It was true. His face was not quite so lined, and his eyes looked almost boyish.

"I moisturise," said Jed with a laugh.

"With what? Some kind of anti-aging potion?"

Jed gave him a sly wink, causing Harry to grin.

After a jovial exchanging of banter, Harry was reminded of a class he had to teach soon. With a groan he stood up, his joints clicking into place, and with a contented farewell, he made his way up to his classroom.

For a blissful three hours, all thoughts of the time-turner and Dumbledore were gone, and the content potions were left untouched.

...

Lily was jolted awake again. The feeling of being pulled forcibly being the momentum for her to find herself in a sitting position.

She looked to her left, and saw Petunia looking back at her from her own bed, clutching her chest, her breath heavy.

...

"Were you dreaming?"

"Nah. Or if I was, I don't remember it."

"Me neither."

Petunia and Lily were deep in conversation about their errant sleeping patterns over breakfast.

Lily saw Hugo enter the hall and she waved him over.

"We got potions first, right?" Hugo asked with a yawn.

"Yeah..." said Petunia absently, looking at Hugo with concern. He had rather obvious dark circles under his eyes.

"Hey, have you been sleeping okay?"

Hugo gave a lazy crooked smile.

"Funny you should ask. I've been having trouble sleeping."

Lily's head snapped up.

"From feeling like you're being pulled out of your bed?"

Hugo looked surprised.

"Yeah!"

"Its been happening to us too!" said Petunia, incredulous.

"This is super weird now," said Lily, palms up and out in front of her.

"Lily, maybe we should talk to Uncle Harry..."

Lily seemed to stop and think for a second. After a while she threw up her hands.

"Yeah, we should. Umm..." she looked towards the head table, to find him deep in conversation with Professor Hallow.

Lily must have looked duly disappointed, because she caught the attention of Professor McGonagall, who turned to pat Harry's shoulder and say something to him.

Harry turned and met his daughter's eyes.

Instinctively, they both stood up and headed towards the Entrance Hall. Petunia and Hugo followed closely behind.

"What's up?" Harry said cheerfully.

"Something weird is happening, Dad," said Lily worriedly, and she explained to Harry about their mutually errant sleeping conundrum.

"All three of you? At the same time? Exactly the same time?"

Lily looked over at Hugo.

"We assume so, but we don't sleep next to Hugo, so..."

Harry nodded, and spun on his heel towards the stone steps.

"Follow me please."

Harry led them up the stairs and up a few more flights of stairs before arriving at the hospital wing.

He motioned for them to wait at the entrance before moving to knock at the door which must have been the nurse's office.

A few minutes later, a young woman came gliding out. She looked curious as she took her wand and began waving it over them carefully and precisely. Although this seemed to produce no effects, she seemed to gain information of some kind from this motion.

"Something is... Off. I can't tell what exactly using just my medical knowledge. I'd recommend having a Legilimens look them over. In the meantime, I'd like to monitor them at night, see if I can catch whatever this... Phenomenon is as its happening.

"Thank you, Madam Partridge. So, you heard her - you are to come here before curfew with your night things for bed. Okay?"

The three students nodded.

"Off to class then," said Harry with a smile, and they scurried away. He was thankful of the free period he had coming up as he had two very important letters to write. He withheld sending a letter to Dudley - that was a can of worms he didn't want to open unless he had to.

...

He received letters back from Hermione and Ginny that very evening.

Hermione assured him that she'll be making every effort to research this phenomenon and asked that Harry do the same, which Harry couldn't see himself doing what with his workload. He made a mental note to give her a fire call later.

Ginny's was an expression of concern and to remind Harry to not let them out of his sight, which Harry rolled his eyes at. Of course he... Oh.

He was doing his best, but Hogwarts was a big place. He immediately thought of the Marauder's Map. He was going to need it back. He folded the letters up and put them in his pocket, before snuffing out the lone candle at his desk and exiting his office.

He was climbing the stairs to the seventh floor briskly, hoping to get to the common room before James turned in for the evening.

"Password?" said the Fat Lady as he approached.

"Monstrum," he said, not breaking his step, hopping up into the hole behind the portrait.

The common room was quite full, the little amount of chatter that was being exchanged stopped abruptly as faces turned towards him.

He scanned the room for James. Spotting him, he motioned him over.

"I need the map back." He said this in a hushed but urgent tone.

James smiled sheepishly.

"So, you knew I took it."

Harry just laughed at him.

"Sure, I'll just..." He shuffled towards the boy's dormitories, leaving Harry to sit down gratefully at the table he had just vacated. Albus was in the chair opposite.

"Hey Dad.

"Hey, how're lessons going?"

"Yeah, they're alright."

James came down and handed the innocent looking parchment to his father.

"Why'd you let me keep it?"

Harry smiled.

"It was time to pass it on. I didn't need it anyway."

"So why do you need it now?"

Harry hesitated. It wasn't a good idea to make them worry about something that could be nothing.

"It'll just make my life easier," he said evasively, waving the parchment around idly, standing up to leave.

"See you later, boys."

...

When Harry made it back to his quarters, he immediately spread the parchment out and tapped it with his wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

He turned his attention to the hospital wing and made sure the Lily, Hugo and Petunia were all there, which they were. Harry picked up the map and left it open on the coffee table. He looked up at Dumbledore's portrait, not entirely surprised to see the man smiling at him.

"Evening professor," he said, lowering himself onto the sofa, contenting himself with his favourite version of people watching.

"I see you have procured the map from your son."

"Yes. How did you -"

"I have met with and conversed with him on one or two nights during one of his nightly strolls. He had the map with him."

Harry smiled to himself.

"Of course."

He flicked to the second floor corridor, and suddenly a feeling of being wrapped up in cotton wool came over him.

He blinked. What was he doing?

He looked down at the map. Jedidiah Hallow was navigating some of the moving staircases.

"Profe-" he began, looking up, only to find the portrait he was addressing was empty.

Suddenly, he felt the time-turner begin to spin.

...

**A/N: I know, I suck for ending it here. I had to give you guys something though, didn't I? **

**I hope updates won't ever take that long again. I'm really sorry it happened. **

**I haven't got anything better to do other than write at the moment, so hopefully I'll get a whole chunk done over the course of the month.**

**Thank you all for your support and interest, and I appreciate reviews lots and lots!**


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